


If You Need

by KathSilver



Series: Call My Name [3]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: 11!Verse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon doesn't live here anymore, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, FAKE SCIENCE ALERT, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Minor Character Death, Newt POV, Pinecones, Time Travel Fix-It, almond oil, and I say it goes like THIS, eventually, newt and minho bros for life, newt makes a point, no really, recreational use of vines, thomas pov, thomas swears he has a plan, we like knives here, we live in my world now, wicked made poor choices if you think about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathSilver/pseuds/KathSilver
Summary: The hits just keep on coming, every time they get control over the board something happens that knocks them right back. Newt and Thomas are running out of time to set this world on a better path than the one they came from, and all the allies in the world cannot prepare them for what they're about to face.But since when has anything like odds stopped them from trying?This is the third installment of the Call My Name series, and cannot be read as a standalone.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a short chapter, but it's just a prelude and making it longer was ruining the effect. Besides, i never keep you waiting for too long! 
> 
> <3
> 
> Enjoy.

There should have been time.

Seconds, minutes, hours, perhaps even days.

It should have gone slowly, deliberately, with space for argument and explanation; the opportunity to create a team with the same goal in mind, prepared for what was to come.

There shouldn’t have been screams, no heavy breathing.

The taste of fear shouldn’t have been thick and metallic against his tongue, shouldn’t have colored the air with a spray of red.

Shotgun shells shouldn’t have clashed against stone in time with his pulse, with the tempo of feet pounding down a mountain.

Bodies should not have collided, should not have fallen.

This wasn’t a thing meant to be rushed, to be forced. It needed careful and tacit agreement from all, but especially from the one who would oppose most harshly.

The smell of mint mingled with fresh dust and copper—the effect was nauseous and unsettling.

They came from all directions and they came in droves, Minho had been barely into the process of loading up the Berg when the first shot had rung one, accompanied by an earsplitting shriek from a voice Thomas couldn’t place.

He hadn’t even caught up to Newt yet, to begin his attempt to explain the decision he’d made and why it was important it was made then.

He’d had a plan.

 

He’d had a plan.

 

He’d had a plan _._

_There should have been time._


	2. Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys are reminded that a world exists outside of their own problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaack! Whew! Okay so for those of you who have no idea why I vanished for like a solid month--I GOT MARRIED TO MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE SARAH! Yay me! So basically I had to dip so I could finish up with details, have the ceremony, and then go on my honeymoon in Jamaica. We got back a short while ago, but I've been so busy catching up with work and house things that I haven't had the time to post. But! Now I've got all of that settled so things are almost back to normal. Just one more week and my posting schedule should go back to what it was before!
> 
> That said, thank you all so much for following this story to its third part and being so patient with my absence. I am endlessly in awe of the amount of support you guys give me on a daily basis. 
> 
> Without further ado, lets get back to the story, shall we?

His body was moving even before the sounds of what was happening registered with his brain.

Thomas was on the ground with the nearest person within reach trapped beneath, shielded by flesh and dust and confusion.

Gunfire.

Why was there gunfire?

Minho was on the ground near him, his task of seeking out Newt suddenly a lot more shucking important. Thomas tried to wave him down to say that he would go in Minho’s place to find him, but Minho waved him off and instead crawled towards the main building on his stomach; his elbows and knees propelled him forward much faster than Thomas had thought it possible to move on the ground.

“Let me up, I can help,” said the body beneath him, Dmitri.

Thomas rolled off and tried to get his bearings on what was happening around him, but what he saw didn’t make sense. People stormed the mountaintop, but it couldn’t have been more then twenty or thirty bodies total. They weren’t wearing WCKD gear, nor did they appear to be in the best shape, but they were clearly trained in some sort of haphazardly militaristic way.

Like the Right Arm, but less organized. Less controlled.

They sprinted around, whooping and hollering, and the more they behaved like wild animals with weapons the surer Thomas was that this attack had nothing to do with WCKD or being an immune at all.

This was a territory battle.

They’d seen the flare go up in the sky, they’d scoped out the area, and they decided not only that they wanted this place for themselves—but that a large group of kids wouldn’t be able to prevent them from taking it.

It was violence, senseless violence, nothing more.

Very well.

Thomas could do senseless violence.

“Orders?” coughed Dmitri. He was on the ground near Thomas’s left, close to the ramp that led up the Berg. There were others around them; Thomas could see Dan peeking out from where he was still inside, holding a weapon to knock out anyone who decided the aircraft was theirs for the taking. Everyone else lay behind cover or on the ground, waiting for their next course of action.

Newt.

Ian.

Safety.

Thomas felt his body for any weapons and found only a set of throwing knives that his hand didn’t have the proper callus’ for yet. The only guns within view were those being wielded against them.

They needed to change that.

“Stay here, set up a perimeter around the Berg,” Thomas said. “I need a perimeter around the Berg to make it easier for everyone else to get up here safely.”

“How are we gonna make a perimeter or do any of that without weapons?” called someone from his right.

“Hold that thought,” Thomas grunted.

And then he moved.

The trick was not to overthink it, to let the faint echo of muscle memory do the work for him. The disconnect in his mind between past life and present body had never been more clear; in his mind the cool steel of the knives felt like greeting an old friend, even as his clumsy fingertips slipped and struggled to find the proper grip.

No over thinking.

Thomas found his first target between one running step and the next, he locked on to where the man’s armor was thinnest—the gap just underneath their arm—and before he could second guess himself he let his first knife fly off to take him down.

He didn’t even stop to see whether the blade sunk into his target before he changed direction and searched for any others who had passed over the main house in favor of hitting the Berg. Slight movement and the scrap of cloth on rock made Thomas turn in time to dodge an angry blow from a woman who snarled like a bobcat, although her first hit missed, the second fist connected with his shoulder and nearly bowled him over.

In the struggle Thomas damn near dropped the knife in his fingers, but in the last second, he managed to keep hold. He dodged her wild swings and kept his eye for an opening, anything at all he could use, before he realized that her speed had him outmatched; the only way he stood a chance was to use his weight against hers to pin her down. Being like that, up close and personal, Thomas could see how gaunt her face was, how weary the lines of her face. Her eyes were cold as ice, there was no denying, but behind them was the look of desperation.

How long had they been surviving out there? How bad was their situation that they decided to attack another group for the slim promise of safety? Supplies?

His thoughts drifted to the paradise he planned to reach, the Haven with shelter and food and the promise of life and felt a creeping sensation of guilt. Know what awaited him, who was Thomas to deny the people that he left behind whatever measure of comfort and safety they could find?

For the first time since he woke up in that Box (the first Box, that is), Thomas could feel a burning drive to cure the world, could understand what made some people manic enough in their search for a cure that they would sacrifice others to find it.

Why should only a few be allowed the right to live in peace?

While lost in his thoughts his opponent almost flipped him to the ground, Thomas jerked himself from his thoughts and shifted the focus of his fight. Instead he struck not to kill, just to knock out. He flipped the knife in his hand so that the hilt was in the lead position and swung, hard, until it connected with the softer part of her skull. Her dead weight dropped on top of him with a surprised cry and Thomas hurried to push her off and get to his feet. A few yards away he saw Gladers stealing the guns from the first man Thomas dropped, and called out, “Don’t kill them! Knock them out if you can, kill if you have to, leave as many alive as you can!”

They looked confused but nodded in agreement.

That done, Thomas looked down to where the safe house was located and at the bodies swarming in every location. None appeared to be moving towards the Berg, either hostile or friendly, which left him with no choice but to run into the fray.

 

 

“Are you outta your shuckin’ mind, Greenie?! Get your buggin’ head down!” Gally yelled as he yanked Thomas down from behind, his grip firm on the back of his shirt even as Thomas fell backwards into the dirt and was dragged back behind a large boulder he’d barely paid any attention to in his made sprint.

Gally had been as good as invisible.

“I—,” Thomas started to explain, but was interrupted by the look of fierce disappointment Ben gave him, and where the hell had he even come from?!

“You think I put all that work into keeping you alive just so you can get killed now? Where’s your head at? Where’s Newt?” Ben demanded

“Minho went after him, look—”

“Haven’t seen Minho, must’ve gone around back. Alright, let’s continue our sweep up here and then we can go in—"

“Slim it, Gally! Let me finish a shucking sentence!” Thomas snapped.

He was met with twin unimpressed looks and eyebrows that appeared to be plotting Thomas’s quick and untimely doom. Regardless, he pressed on.

“Get everyone onto the Berg, grab only a few supplies that can last us for a few days, nothing more. We’re leaving. Keep as many of the attackers alive as you can,” Thomas instructed.

If possible the looks on their faces became even more incredulous and Gally’s eyebrows appeared to be making a valid effort to fly directly off of his skull.

Thomas didn’t laugh.

He didn’t.

“Do we get to know why we aren’t killing the people that just shot Terry in the head?” Gally demanded. “Or are we just supposed obey within question?”

Thomas winced at the loss of Terry, a death without a point, but he held firm to his decision. “They need this place more than we do, Gally. Just trust me.”

Thomas clapped Gally on the shoulder and ran off towards the direction the fighting, but not before he heard Ben yell after him, “But where are _we_ supposed to go?”

“You’ll see!” Thomas called back.

 

 

 

Thomas knocked out several more people who were far too thin to be healthy before he found Gladers to send back towards where Ben and Gally were _hopefully_ escorting people and supplies to the Berg.

He passed by signs of fighting everywhere, including Terry’s body, and his heart ached that there wouldn’t be time to bury it properly. Of course, just as he’d thought that, Tim and Frankie ran to their fallen friend and began moving him to the Berg.

No man left behind.

Harriet and Miyo were in the midst of taking on, and beating, five others when Thomas flagged them down and conveyed the plan. They didn’t seem too happy about it either.

“We can’t find Rachel, have you done your mind thing recently?” Miyo asked, panting, with her hands on her knees.

Harriet reloaded her shotgun and glared at the entrances to the room as though daring anyone to come through them.

Rachel.

Fuck.

How had he forgotten that he could speak to her? Might have cut his searching time in half.

 _Where are you? You okay?_ Thomas asked. Her response was immediate.

_Supply closet, second floor, kind of blocked in here. Got Fran and Ian in here with me._

“She’s in the supply closet on the second floor, with others. Get her out and drag as many as you can back to the Berg!”

Harriet nodded before she and Miyo sprinted off in that direction like they had a Griever on their tails.

 _Help is headed your way,_ Thomas told Rachel.

 _Finally. Brenda and Joe ran outside to do **something**_ , _Newt was with them. I haven’t seen Jorge since the first gunshot._

_Thanks._

Armed with new information, Thomas began his search once more.

 

 

 

When he found them, it was to find them altogether. Minho, Newt, Brenda, Joe, Manny, and Jorge were all huddled together outside near the truck Gally had arrived in.

And they were making explosives.

 “No,” Thomas stated. “No explosives. We’re leaving.”

“Tommy, what—”

“I told you I’d find them and to stay put—”

“What’s wrong with explo—”

“Have you seen Fran and Ian?” Joe’s voice ran out louder than the others, and they all stopped talking in hopes of the answer.

Thomas nodded, “They’re with Rachel, Harriet and Miyo and picking them up now and taking them to the Berg, where we should all be headed.”

Thomas almost didn’t notice the way Minho’s shoulder’s relaxed at the mention of Rachel. Almost. That was a detail to file away for when people weren’t shooting at them. Thomas pulled Newt up by his shoulders and did a quick check to make sure he was alright, only to have Newt stop him and tip his chin upwards with a finger.

“I’m fine, Tommy. You’re the one that’s gone and gotten himself injured,” Newt muttered.

That was enough to make Thomas pause and stare up at Newt in confusion, because what? He was fine.

Newt rolled his eyes and gently traced a spot on Thomas’s cheekbone that felt like fire swan underneath his skin at even the slightest amount of pressure. He’d not even noticed that the woman he’d fought had gotten him in the face, but there you have it.

“Oh, that.”

“’Oh, that’ indeed,” Newt mocked. “Now why aren’t we blowin’ these shanks to kingdom come, hm?”

Thomas shook his head and ushered them up and towards the Berg. “We’re letting them take this place, we don’t need it, we have places to be.”

Everyone wanted to argue with him, except Minho who knew what Thomas was referring to, but they followed as the sound of boots on gravel came ever closer.

At that, they all ran as quickly as they could back to the Berg. They were halfway up the cliff with Frypan and Zart joined them and announced that as far as they could tell the house was cleared of their people. Neither of them looked the worse for wear, a welcome relief, but it wasn’t until Thomas passed Dmitri and ran into the Berg itself that he breathed easily again.

“Is that everyone?” Thomas asked Clint, who stood near the door counting everyone.

“You were the last, let’s get out of here,” Clint yelled towards the cockpit.

Immediately the ramp closed up and Dan shouted back down at everyone, “And where exactly am I supposed to be going?”

Thomas felt the eyes of everyone on him, especially Newt’s. They weren’t going to like his answer.

“Back towards the Facility, Dan. We have some unfinished business there.”

“You got it, boss!”

No one made a sound, and Thomas could guess why. It probably had something to do with the way Newt approached him with his hands on his hips and murder in his eyes.

“And what, pray tell, might that business be, Thomas?” Newt asked quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks! Don't expect the next chapter before the 13th, yeah? My schedule might surprise me and give me room to write sooner, but for now the plan is to post the next chapter either the 13th or 14th. And after than we should be back to at least two chapters a week. Love you all!!


	3. Justify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are questions no one ever wants to ask, because they're afraid of the answer.
> 
> Sometimes you have to ask them anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for the patience, from here on out we ought to be back to regularly scheduled programming! Aiming for two chapters a week, but you'll at the very least get one a week from here until the end. Unless I'm caught up writing for one of the other project's I've got going, but since most of you read those as well I feel like it's a win/win type thing. Have some Newt!

Normally whenever Thomas pulled some sort of nonsense, Newt could feel his anger and frustration rise up and explode almost immediately. There’d be no time for a filter before he’d spew his temper out and to hell with the bloody consequences.

But then? With Thomas standin’ in the middle of the bay, surrounded on all sides by questioning and hostile gazes, blood still flowing from the wound on his face, Newt couldn’t bring himself to more than a quiet simmer. Even with the body of one of their friends over being wrapped up in the corner by his closest mates, Newt wasn’t enraged.

Yet.

Wasn’t enraged _yet_.

Thomas’s leg started to bounce in that way it did whenever he was nervous, the one tic that wartime never could breed out of him, and Newt closed his eyes.

“Everyone clear out, yeah? Seems our fearless leader and I need to have a bit of a chat,” Newt asked, though there was no room for disobedience in his tone.

“Um…”

Or perhaps there was room, you learn something new every day. Newt cut his eyes to the speaker and found they’d landed on Dmitri. At least the bloke had the decency to look down at his feet instead of meeting Newt in the eye. “Yes?”

“Well, uh,” Dmitri began, “The berg isn’t exactly big enough for all of us to leave this space…since… it’s the biggest room… so…”

A quick glance around at his surroundings and found them all to cramped around the space as it was, let alone if they tried to all shift elsewhere. Newt exhaled sharply before he grabbed Thomas by the front of his shift and bodily dragged him through the crowd and out of the bay in search of something at resembled privacy in the floating tin can they’d found themselves in. Eventually he found a smallish room, more a cupboard really for all the elbow room it offered, and shoved them both inside it.

He allowed himself a breath, two breaths, of time to savor the rush being so close to Thomas induced. The absorb the warmth from where his fist was still bunched in his shirt, lingering, unwilling to break their contact. But he had to.

Apparently.

“Y’know, I dunno what it is with you mate,” Newt began. He shook his head slightly and attempted to keep his voice down to fight the way he knew sound would carry. “No matter how many times—in however many timelines—we have this same bloody conversation, it just doesn’t seem to stick with you.”

“Newt—”

He held up a finger to stop Thomas before he could really get going; he also forcibly ignored the way Thomas’s’ pupils dilated and focused on how close said fingers was to his lips.

Bloody buggering hell he wished Tommy’d stop pulling this klunk on them all.

“Start from the beginning. When, exactly, did you find time to change the plan on us? We were apart for not even a full hour before we were attacked.”

The way Thomas deflated a bit wasn’t promising; it as good as told Newt exactly what road that conversation was going to go down.

“I went to call and check in with Rianne, Ava intercepted the call. Minho and I weren’t exactly planning on seeking out conversation with her—she was just there,” Thomas said. The lack of space to speak with his hands had him a bit flustered, Newt hated that it was endearing.

A metallic, far too close, disembodied voice echoed through their small cupboard at that.

 _“Leave me out of this!”_ Minho yelled.

Well. That answered his doubts about how private their small room was, at least. Anything said here would likely be heard by all, door or no door.

Newt rolled his eyes and ignored the intrusion. He gestured for Thomas to continue. As Thomas relayed the conversation he’d had with Ava Newt tried to keep up, tried until it was impossible.

“Hold on—Rianne is Mary’s daughter? Truly?” Newt demanded.

“According to Ava she is, and we don’t exactly have another way to test it,” Thomas answered.

Mary had a daughter. _That’s_ why she’d left her life’s work, why she liberated a female Maze instead of the Maze that her contact was most likely to be sent into. It made sense, it all made a horrible and sick sort of sense—which was probably why it couldn’t be trusted.

“And Ava says she is responsible for creating the Safe Haven? How do you logic that one out, hm? With the way she attacked the Right Arm and killed Mary to prevent us all from joining them and leaving to that very Haven.”

Thomas shook his head in frustration, “I dunno maybe Teresa called Janson and so Ava had to go along with it? And Janson is the one who shot Mary, not Ava, so it could be that she handled the circumstances as best she could? They could have blown us all up once they took who they could get, but they didn’t.”

“Lovely, she wasn’t quite as murderous as she could have been,” Newt deadpanned. “That is a perfect reason to trust every word that comes out of her mouth.”

“Dammit Newt, you know that’s not what I’m doing!”

Newt sighed, “Right, you’re just keeping our options of betrayal and damnation open, so things never get boring.”

“You weren’t there!” Thomas snapped. “You didn’t see how bad things got at the very end, okay? How she was, when it all came down to it. She’d all but given up, she looked so _tired_ and broken.”

“We all did! That doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy!”

“But what if she’s telling the truth? Can we afford to risk everyone’s lives by not taking what she has to offer?” Thomas demanded, but Newt wasn’t having it.

“And what’s the price of our trust, Tommy? Hm? What exactly has she demanded in return for the answers to all of our problems?”

There was a beat of silence, a flash of guilt and apprehension, and Newt knew the answer to his question.

“No.”

“Newt—”

“I said no, Thomas.”

“Samples, not me! Just samples!”

“There’s no way—”

“They cured fifteen people with one vial dammit, there’s something different going on here and we need to know what it is!”

That made Newt pause.

Fifteen?

“I thought you said that one vial would be barely enough for an adult, and even then maybe not if they were too close to the Gone?” Newt asked, pulse hammering.

Even mentioning the Gone was enough to bring up memories, bring up the anxiety he kept locked in a very tight box and never brought out into the light of day. The thought of people being spared that… was not the point.

“That’s what I thought, that’s was they said about the cure they pulled from me last time. That it was good for one person if they took it soon enough, but for me to reach a bunch of people they’d need to have me strung up constantly to one of their machines.”

“So, what’s different now?” Newt asked, thoughts already focused on the vial of cure Tommy’d injected into his veins back in the Glade. Was it more potent? Did that make him more protected? What if there was something wrong with it, if the scientists who’d meddled with the sample Tommy’d given had done something extra to the liquid before it was viable?

Was Newt truly safe from the virus, or was he still vulnerable?

“That’s what we need them to find out for us, I’m not taking any chances. Not with you, not with Winston, not with Brenda, and not with Chuck. We need to know what we’re dealing with,” Thomas explained.

“All that random knowledge from Before that we’ve runnin’ ‘round in our heads and not a lick of it has to do with this level of medical experimentation,” Newt mused. “Probably done like that on purpose, come to think of it. So, you’re using Ava for resources to save the others, a way to the Safe Haven, and to find out exactly what needs to be done to keep the lot of us from joining the Cranks. Sound about right?” Newt asked.

His tone was deceptively light, he could tell by the way Thomas relaxed his shoulders and clearly thought he was out of danger. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Good that, so what about those of us who’ve told ya that we want nothin’ to do with this little cure of yours if it means you serving yourself up on a silver bloody platter to the Ice Queen herself?” Newt asked. He didn’t give Thomas time to answer. “Because I distinctly telling you in no uncertain terms that that was not an option we were considering, yet here we are on our way to the buggin’ Facility! Tell me Thomas, are you whacked? You’ve not been skipping sleep and gone off the deep end again have you?”

Thomas puffed up and banged his wrists on the walls in his effort to gesticulate with his arms, “Seriously? Of course not! I’m—”

“Well you’re sure doing a good job of acting like it! Between this and earlier, us just runnin’ away after those shanks killed Terry? Lettin’ them get away with it?!”

“They need that place more than we did!” Thomas argued.

“How’d you figure that? We need a base that’s not in Wicked’s hands, we need—"

“We have a whole island waiting for us Newt, these people have nothing, what right do we have to just go off and be happy and leave these people with nothing?! Huh? What right do we have for that?” Thomas asked, but it was more a plea than an argument and Newt felt his veins run cold.

“Tommy… you don’t know what you sound like, love,” Newt whispered. This kind of talk was the thing of nightmares, the kind of klunk that’d that could keep a bloke up at night if he thought about it too long. It was the thoughts of their enemies, the thoughts of their own doom.

“I know exactly what I sound like, and I’ve never understood them more,” Thomas whispered.

“No,” Newt said. “No, you don’t get to just start that all of a sudden. Those people—”

“Are not everyone, Newt.” Thomas interrupted. “Those people we fought today had nothing to do with Wicked. They were tired, underfed, exhaustion, terrified, and trying to find some corner of the world they could carve out and survive in. That safe house we just left? That’s the best thing they’ve got going for them in this barren wasteland. They have no island to run to, no paradise with everything they would ever need to start a new civilization. That’s it. That’s all they get.”

Newt was speechless, he didn’t understand where this all was coming from and he didn’t like the direction it was going.

“Tommy, they can’t go to the Safe Haven, alright? They’re not—” Newt stopped what he was about to say, only then understanding the implications of it, but Thomas finished for him anyway.

“Immune?” Thomas said it like a gauntlet thrown down at his feet, and damn him if Newt didn’t pick it right up because there was only one way this story was allowed to end, and Thomas was straying farther from it with every second.

“Right. Not immune. And there’s not cure blood in your body to cure the whole world, so—”

“You mean there wasn’t, because _now_ —”

“Thomas you slinthead shank so help me if you interrupt me one more time I’m going to kick you out of this bloody plane, good that?”

Thomas gulped, but nodded.

“Good. You’re sounding like Wicked, mate. I know what you mean, people dyin’ is utter klunk, yeah? I get that, I do. But they took us from our homes, took away our memories, tortured us for years and led us like pigs to slaughter—all for this supposed Greater Good. You think we deserve that? Don’t you think that we deserve to live? That those of us who’re still here, who have fought like hell to get here, deserve to make it to the end? To be happy?” Newt asked.

“Of course they do,” Thomas responded.

‘They’, Tommy said. ‘They’, not ‘we’.

“Don’t I?” Newt whispered, and finally Thomas looked him in the eyes. Finally, he seemed to understand exactly what road he was going down, what it would mean at the end of it. “Haven’t I earned my happiness, love?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then why’re you talking about taking it away from me? No one should get to choose who lives and who dies, Tommy.”

It took a moment for Newt to understand why Tommy’s eyes suddenly lit with triumph, but once he did his stomach dropped to the floor. He’d not paid attention to his own words as he said them, like always.

No one should get to choose who lives and who dies.

No one.

Not Wicked.

Not them.

Newt closed his eyes and fell back against the wall at the weight of the statement. He understood what Tommy was gettin’ at, he did. Why did they all get Paradise and not everyone? Why did only some of them get a cure? Who were they to pick and choose? They way Wicked went about it was wrong, twisted, sick.

But for the first time in what he could remember of his life, Newt could understand what drove them to do it. He could see how they might have started with the best of intentions and then become twisted into the monsters they became—but it didn’t excuse them. It didn’t absolve them.

They murdered children, continued to murder children, and went to bed easily at night.

That couldn’t stand.

They don’t get to decide, they don’t get that vindication, to feel justified.

“You get to decide,” Newt finally whispered. The building silence between them shattered at his words, shattered as his resolve to save Thomas from himself if he had to, in the end. “You get to decide who lives and who dies because it’s you that’s been tortured for it. It’s your blood they draw it from, your sacrifice. So, you choose, it’s your right.”

Newt kicked himself of the wall and moved closer into Thomas’s space. He traced his fingers down his face gently, reminiscent of their night together, and felt the way Thomas shuddered.

“If letting those attackers have the safe house is what needs to happen for you to find peace with our happiness, that’s fine by me. You can try to sacrifice for whomever you please, but I reserve the right to try and convince you not to. I’m selfish, I’d like to finish out my days with you the long way, this time around,” Newt traced Thomas’s bottom lip gently before he leaned in and replaced his thumb with a chaste kiss. “And I’ve no problem going against any who might try and take that away from me—even if that person is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love looking into the morality of all of this, and I like thinking that this time around everything has changed. Not only does Thomas know for a fact that a cure exists, he also has the time to see the world around in through the lens of knowing what he has waiting for him --and that no one else gets that. I feel like those things would mess with his head, would mess with all of their heads. Like at the end of TDC, with Thomas holding the cure on the beach and looking out at the boat with purpose in his eyes.... he has the cure. But what to do with it?
> 
> That's a big question, don't you think?
> 
> Also!!! Don't forget about the playlists, if you go to them you can see what song I marathoned to write the chapter, I really liked the song for this one. You guys can also follow me on tumblr and twitter for updates, or just join our discord!! It's fun!!
> 
> <3 until next time


	4. Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's character growth in here somewhere, if you squint.

“What do you mean we aren’t heading for the Facility anymore?” Thomas demanded. “We literally discussed this like ten minutes ago!”

The ghost of Newt’s words, and his lips, still lingered and echoed on his skin. They made him shiver with anticipation and trepidation—he knew that Newt meant his promise, but Thomas sure what it meant. Newt was at times so enigmatic that even Thomas couldn’t keep up with him; a trait Thomas loved, of course, but Newt had gotten even harder to predict since coming back.

Since giving Newt something he wanted to fight for.

“While you two were playing seven minutes in heaven, Danny boy over here fielded a call from a small angry chick,” Minho explained. “Something about the Facility being compromised.”

“Compromised,” Thomas repeated.

“Yep,” Minho said, with extra emphasis on the ‘p’. He was leaned up on the control console, Rachel standing on his right, the tension in his shoulders betraying his affected nonchalance.

“So just where is it we’re going then?” Newt asked. His voice was still deep, still affected, since burrowing its way underneath Thomas’s skin and pulling every shiver from him inch by inch.

Minho was silent, the muscle in his jaw worked but his mouth stayed shut.

“Min?” Newt asked softly, an aborted step forward all the movement in the suddenly still control room.

Thomas glanced around the room, but no one would meet his eyes—the only sound was the beeps and clicks from where Dan robotically manipulated the Berg.

Thomas looked to Frypan, to Zart, to Gally—they all shook their heads and looked to the floor. None of them were happy about their destination, clearly, but somehow, they’d resigned themselves to it despite that fact. Finally, Thomas looked to Ben.

Ben closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded his head to the coordinates listed on the navigation system for Thomas to see for himself.

He and Newt approached the navigation system together and Thomas squinted down at the coordinates before his entire body jerked in denial.

In refusal.

In despair.

 

 

 

 

They were going back to the Glade.

 

 

Somewhere along the way someone explained to him what happened: Ava evidently sent out a mass email explaining things and declared war on everyone who opposed her. Unfortunately for them all, not everyone saw things her way, or each other’s way, and it became a mad dash for everyone to lay siege on the Facility to try and get their hands on whatever version of a cure Ava had managed to find.

So, they had to move.

Ava had gathered all the children and supplies she could muster, packed them off on a Fast Tran, and sent them to the only place she knew she was capable of defending.

The Glade.

Because of course it was the shucking Glade.

 

 

 

It was cleaner than he remembered it being.

The grass was over grown, weeds had gotten into the gardens, some of the livestock had gotten a little bit rambunctious, but overall the Glade seemed to have this sheen of _clean_ around it.

Maybe it was the lack of sand.

Bark, of course, greeted them enthusiastically when they landed the Berg in a large clearing and disembarked—weapons at the ready. The Maze doors were open, Thomas wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t a trap.

But no Grievers jumped at them, no beetle blades were whirring, there was no smoke from the fire in the elevator shaft (later discovered because it had been repaired) and the ‘sun’ was back on.

“How did you ever believe that this was real sunlight? That this was real weather?” Brenda asked from where she came to stand by Thomas’s side.

Newt, Joe and Jorge were off with Minho doing a survey of the Glade; partially to show the new adults around, partially to ensure there wasn’t anything nasty in wait for them. Clint took Fran and Ian to the Med jack hut to be checked over, and the rest of the Gladers were being hassled by Gally and Winston and Zart to start preparing for the possible arrival of an army of Immunes.

Which left Thomas and Brenda, standing side by side, uneasy in the shadow of the sister Thomas had once had in her.

“We didn’t know the difference,” Thomas murmured, “They took away every memory we had so that we would be a fresh slate, so we would believe what they fed to us as truth, so they could control us.”

Brenda took his answer in silence before she nodded and threaded her arm through his own in a gestured that shocked Thomas down to his very toes.

“Alright then, give me the tour.”

 

 

 

It was luck that kept Brenda amazed by things she hadn’t seen before, so amazed that she didn’t ask about what memories Thomas wasn’t sharing with her.

“This is where we had our Council meetings, or anything majorly important.”

_This is where I saw Grievers steal my friends through the roof, with spiked hooks in their stomachs that wrenched them away._

“This is where we grew our crops—things that took up too much space to be in the main garden, like corn.”

_This is where they chased us like animals, picking us off one by one and snuffing out our torches as they went._

“This is where we buried our dead.”

_This is where Ben, out of his mind, attacked me and was sentenced to his death at the hands of his lover._

“This is where they sent us up, along with supplies once a month. Always a boy, until Teresa.”

_This is where our lives began, and where we declared War._

“And this is the Maze.”

_This is where countless boys met their deaths, the source of all our terror, the prison they trapped us inside._

 

 

 

 

Although she’d never seen grass, trees, several of the animals, it was the Maze that held her attention for the longest. Thomas had thought that experiencing a place without sand and blistering heat would be more than enough to distract her, to keep her in awe, but perhaps the easy awe she’d shown before at the Safe Haven was because their first had been over.

Whereas now it seemed like it had only really begun.

“So, these walls moved around?” she asked, creeping far closer to the West entrance than Thomas wanted her to be standing.

“Not these, but about a mile in they would shift every day to form a different pattern, open new doorways. Turns out they were actually forming a code,” Thomas shrugged. He eyed the shadows within the Maze with distrust, waiting haunting, whirring groan to fill the air and a sudden movement snatch Brenda away from where she’d taken a few steps inside.

“Wait, did you just say a _mile_ in?” Brenda turned to look at him in disbelief. Thomas didn’t blame her, he didn’t want to believe it either.

“Yeah. Thing goes on forever, could you—” Thomas broke off, grabbed Brenda’s wrist, and tugged her back inside the Glade. “Maybe not go inside there, alright?”

Brenda didn’t hit him for touching her that time, he supposed that must be progress.

“Why? What’s inside there?” she asked.

“Grievers.”

Frypan called out to Thomas from the Homestead, beckoning them away, so Brenda didn’t have the time to ask about them.

Thomas was needed for meetings and decisions and planning, plenty of distractions to keep from spending too much time thinking about how on earth he would explain Grievers and the many horrors that came with them. Newt still hadn’t had a real conversation with him since their time in the closet—even after an hour of sitting in on planning sessions with the Keepers and Rachel, Thomas still couldn’t pull his mind off Newt and what he’d meant.

Until, of course, someone reminded him why he really shouldn’t have left Brenda to her own devices.

“Ey hermano, you seen where Brenda wandered off to?” Jorge asked.

 

 

 

He should have known that she would find the wall of names.

 

 

 

Thomas found her there, sitting on the cool grass and hugging her knees, staring up at the Wall. He sat down next to her and followed her stricken gaze to where her eyes were glued:

 

**~~GEORGE~~ **

****

“You know they gave us new names, right?” Thomas whispered. “That probably wasn’t him, he might not have even been in this Maze.”

Brenda shook her head in frustration and refused to look away from the wall. A slightly uneven gait approached them, and Thomas was glad that Newt chose to sit on the other side of Brenda, to give her whatever comfort they could.

“He’s right, you know,” Newt told her. “He could be alive and well on his way here right this moment, or any of the other Gladers walking about.”

They both knew the odds of either of those statements were low, but it didn’t stop it from being the truth. Brenda stared steadfastly forward and shook her head once more.

Thomas thought she would ask about George, try to figure out if any of his details matched ones from her own memory. But she didn’t.

“Tell me about the Grievers,” she demanded.

And so, they did.

They told her what they looked like, how they moved, how they killed. Thomas told her about both times he’d had to climb the vines on the towering stones walls to stay alive, how he and Minho tricked them in falling.

Thomas was in the middle of detailing the way that WCKD controlled them when a sudden grip on his arm and a sharp, “Tommy!” made him stop and look up.

Newt pointed towards the West entrance where shadows moved from within the deep—Thomas was on his feet before he’d thought it through, sprinting towards the door and palming his knives.

Newt and Brenda joined him in his mad dash, Newt yelling at him all the while.

“What, like your bloody knives are gonna take that thing down? I know that bitch’d betray us, I just bloody knew it!”

Shouts from the Homestead showed a wall of bodies running towards the doors as well, weapons in their hands and murder on their faces, but they all stopped short at the entrance to the Maze.

It wasn’t Grievers.

It was _people_.

Ava, flanked by Justin, Aris, and Rianne, led a large group of Immunes towards the Glade in a giant crowd. Rachel wasted no time in colliding with Aris, but no one else moved.

Thomas stared at Ava, immaculate in white as always with not a hair out of place, and shook his head in disbelief.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“What?” Ava responded. “You didn’t honestly expect me to use the elevator, did you? That thing is filthy.”

There was an aborted movement on his right, but Thomas pushed down the gun before Newt leveled it at her face.

“No, Newt, you can’t shoot her,” Thomas said.

Ava turned a smug look on Newt that had Thomas squinted and flexing his fingers on his own knives.

_“Yet.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We got in some decent Brenda time, which is always nice. And our boys are back in the Glade!! Again!! Wee!!!! 
> 
> If you never read the books, you don't know that they did, in fact, return to the Glade at the end. However certainly not in anything resembling these circumstances.


	5. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finally understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, really. This chapter fought me tooth and nail-- it did NOT want to be written for whatever reason. Finally I gave up trying to write the damn thing while sober and just downed a bottle of wine and pushed it out. Much thanks to the discord fam for doing a thousand Word Wars with me to help me get it done, finally.

“You’ve not been here for 15 bloody minutes and you’re tryin’ to get your hands on him already. You’re a right psychopath, y’know that?” Newt said to Ava, who was standing on the opposite side of the Homestead meeting room with Clyde.

Thomas, Newt, Rianne, Frypan, Minho, Gally, Rachel, Harriet, and Aris stood opposite them—though with the way Ava acted it was clear that she didn’t view being outnumbered by them as a problem. Or even a threat.

Outside in the Glade Ben and Clint attempted to corral the sheer number of Immunes who had shown up behind Ava, many of them looking the worse for wear. They were dazed, too thin, weak—but what could you expect out of people who’d been in a coma for however long? It was a miracle they were moving at all, to be honest.

“A bargain was made, Mr. Newton,” Ava replied waspishly. “I’ve kept up my end of it and now the time has come for Thomas to do the same.”

Minho snorted at the name, but no one else got to say a word before Newt jumped down Ava’s throat again. Thomas knew he wouldn’t make this easy, but did he have to make it so difficult?

“I didn’t agree to those terms you slimy bint, and—”

“Newt.”

Newt met Thomas’s eyes and Thomas could feel the icy fury contained within them.

“I’ve gotten us this far without getting us all killed,” Thomas said slowly. “Don’t you think I’ve earned enough trust to be able to get us farther?”

The sharp exhalation of breath and the way Newt’s fist curled so tightly the knuckles turned white gave the answer that Newt wanted to give, that Thomas couldn’t be trusted to make decisions where his own health was concerned. There was an anxiety in his eyes, his stilted movements betrayed the thoughts that raced in a mind too intelligent for its own good.

But he nodded.

And then he retreated.

Thomas felt a knot inside his chest loosen, though it didn’t last once he saw the self-satisfied smirk on Ava’s face. He took a moment to settle himself before he reached into the pocket of his trousers and lifted a syringe of the cure and threw it at Ava’s chest.

She caught it on reflex and stared at it in puzzlement before she passed it off to Clyde and schooled her features into stone. In his peripheral vision Thomas saw newt’s eyes widen and his shoulders slacken slightly.

“This wasn’t what we agreed, Thomas,” Ava began, but Thomas spoke over her.

“It is, actually. You never specified how fresh you needed it, or even if it needed to be diluted.”

Ava paused and tilted her head, “You would try to manipulate our bargain?”

“I would stick to the letter of the bargain—it’s a little trick you taught me. I haven’t broken my word to you,” Thomas said.

“Yet I assume if I attempt to do something similar I can’t imagine it working out very well for our partnership,” she countered.

“This isn’t a partnership, Ava. I have what you want and since we both know damn well if you try to take me by force I’ll either escape or kill myself before you get what you need… well,” Thomas shrugged his shoulders in a mock apology, “it looks like you operate at the disadvantage of not being able to fuck with me.”

Ava’s lips thinned, and her nostrils flared—across the room, Rianne was openly grinning in such a way as Thomas imagined a shark would manage. Clyde, however, took advantage of Ava’s silence to ask more pragmatic questions.

“Was this done at the same time as the previous sample? Using the same method?” he asked.

Thomas nodded, “Figured using a similar sample would work best for your tests for now—this way you can focus more on what it’s telling you instead of trying to calculate for variables.”

Clyde grunted in appreciation and pocketed the syringe, “True enough. If I can make this sample go as far as the last one we can learn much indeed, though I must admit I’d like to ask you a few questions about why you synthesized it the way you did when your blood was already so potent. If you don’t mind, that is.”

The way Clyde’s eyes darted from Ava to Thomas made it unclear just who it was he was asking permission from; judging from the way Ava ground her teeth, however, Thomas assumed it was him.

“Yeah, man,” he sighed. “Once we find a place for you all to stay tonight you and I can sit down and go over it.”

An iron glint shone in Ava’s tone once she apparently regained her voice, “No need, Thomas. We have lodgings beneath the maze we will be using.”

All sound and movement within the room came to a stuttered halt as every Glader fixed their undivided and openly hostile attention on Ava, with the girls not very far behind.

“You whacked or somethin’?” Minho demanded. He took two steps forward and flexed his palms open and closed while he stared her down. “You must be whacked if you think we’re letting you down there.”

Thomas was glad Minho spoke up—he was too stunned to formulate a sentence beyond the rush of disbelief and the sour bile that came with anger.

Ava merely smiled at Minho and said, “Well where else did you expect us to perform the tests? As you well know the Glade certainly doesn’t have the equipment necessary.”

Newt looked like he if opened his mouth to speak a war cry would come out instead, but Rianne saved him the trouble of reacting.

“Last I checked people don’t conduct experiments in their sleep, bitch. You can rough in in the mud with the rest of us or swallow lead before you reach the entrance of that Maze,” she said. Her tone was even, sure, and deadly serious.

Thomas had half a mind to agree with her, but still he stayed silent and wildly attempted to think through whatever angles Ava was working towards.

“How you planning on getting down there anyway?” Gally asked from where he sat astride his chair. “If the elevator is too filthy for you, I can’t imagine the awful tunnel of slime would be much better.”

Too late Thomas realized that was the opening she’d been waiting for.

“I’ll take the door and the stairs behind them, if you don’t mind,” she said, faux-innocent.

“No.”

Thomas jerked his attention to Minho who’d apparently decided that was the last straw.

“I beg your pardon?” Ava asked.

“There is no door,” Minho grunted. “Three years. Three years I ran this shuck Maze and I traced every step, every crack in the stone. There is no door. We did _not_ miss a door.”

He looked almost like his entire sense of self-worth depended on Ava lying to them, but Thomas knew her. He could see the victory in the way she held herself, the way her face softened in sympathy.

“Disappointing, isn’t it?” she smiled, “To have it proven that you’re not as good as you think you are? I can assure you that there is, in fact, a door that you missed. But you were meant to, if that helps. I’ll gladly point it out to you if you wish.”

Minho’s entire body twitched with the self-restraint required not to tackle her to the ground, though Thomas appreciated his control. In that moment, though, Thomas decided that Ava staying in the Glade would drive them all to homicide; or worse, she’d succeed in fracturing them apart. Already Thomas saw the way that the others eyed Minho—their faith so easily shaken by the thought of something so simple as door existing for all that time.

It was excusable, before, when the way out was literally to jump into an abyss that no one in their right mind would attempt. But a door?

That was something else entirely.

“Ava.”

Everyone looked at Thomas, but his eyes were locked with Ava’s in an attempt to convey exactly how serious he was.

“Yes?” she said mildly.

“You and your scientists will sleep below, just as you planned,” Thomas said. He held up a hand to stall the protests he knew would be incoming. “But I want you to keep this in mind. Those doors close? A Griever appears? We see even _one_ beetle blade? I will take this knife,” Thomas removed the knife from his wrist sheath and held it up so that it’s blade caught in the light. “And I will rip open my carotid artery, bleed myself dry, and doom you all straight to hell.”

There were a few quiet gasps in the room and Thomas had to force himself not to look over at Newt and to instead keep Ava’s gaze. She carefully showed no reaction, but it was her complete lack of one that gave her away. When too long passed without a response Thomas tightened his grip on the blade and squinted his eyes at her,

“Do we have an understanding?” he asked softly, though in the silence of the room he felt his own whisper echo against his skin.

Ava gave a single nod and when she spoke her voice was steady, “Yes.”

 _I think Newt might actually kill you,_ Rachel said in his mind.

 _I can feel his rage from over here,_ Aris agreed.

Thomas still avoided Newt’s gaze, _Shut up, both of you._

 

The door was sealed into the stone beneath the section of wall that Thomas himself had stopped to stare at before, the section that proudly stated:

 

**WORLD IN CATASTOPHE:**

**KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT**

 

Because, of course, the door had to be clearly labelled.

They’d all decided to escort Ava and the adults she’d brought with her to the door and along the way Thomas had answered their questions about how he’d made the vial of cure they carried to the best of his ability; when they reached the door and Ava pressed the last ‘T’ in ‘Department’ and the door retreated into the stone and opened Thomas looked to Minho, who appeared as if he was going to be sick.

It wasn’t until the door closed again behind them that Minho cried out and punched the stone that fell into place once again.

No one said a word, and Minho stalked off towards the Glade ahead of the group.

 

 

 

Somehow, not an hour later, Thomas found himself standing watch with Newt near the Griever hole.

Of course he understood how it happened, that it was unanimously decided that despite Thomas’s threat no one trust Ava to keep her word, that it’d taken Ben and Gally less than five minutes to come up with a warning system that including having several teams of Gladers on watch at the same time but spread out along the path from the hole to the Glade itself. They each had fires and spears and the goal was that if a Griever showed itself there would be a complicated system of flaming torches being thrown rapid fire to pass the signal along.

Until, of course, Aris pointed out that they could just have one of the telepaths out on watch and if something happened they could alert the others. Thomas vowed to come up with something in the future that allowed Ben and Gally to play with flaming spears to make up for the way the fun was sucked out of their entire invention.

From there is was just a matter of Newt deciding that it would be the perfect opportunity to speak to Thomas in private, i.e. scream at him where none could hear, and suddenly he and Newt were on first watch despite the fact that they were the only two individuals who had any idea of what the future might hold and how to possibly counter it.

Thomas wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that no one seemed overly concerned about losing both Thomas and Newt overnight.

Even then, it wasn’t being back in the Maze that had Thomas unsettled. He’d spent a solid fifteen minutes looking for any bodies of their fallen friends or crumpled heaps of machinery that marked fallen Grievers but found none. All that was left of their battle to escape were a few kinks and scratches in the stone, there weren’t even any smears of blood.

It wasn’t the first time Thomas had been in the Maze at night, but it _was_ the first time that Newt had gone this long in his presence without talking to him.

Thomas couldn’t take it anymore.

“Will you say something?”

Newt glanced over at Thomas before he looked away and stared back down into the abyss. He shrugged and said, “What do you want me to say?”

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“You want a bloody list?”

“If that’ll help, then…” Thomas shrugged.

Newt chewed his lip a bit before he shook his head, “You just don’t get it do you? What all these stunts you pull, these threats you make, your blatant disregard for your own health, this unfortunate tendency to start thinkin’ about the ‘greater good’ do to me? How it makes me feel?”

“You’ve said how it makes you feel, but—”

“I think that might be the problem.”

Thomas shook his head, confused. Newt did him the kindness of elaborating.

“Words don’t really get through to do, do they? For you it’s all solid actions and experiences, always has been. Words are just that, words, until somethin’ makes ‘em real,” Newt said.

Thomas had to take a moment to think about it, but in a way, Newt was right. Nothing was real unless he could make it tangible, feel it for himself. But that didn’t really help Newt’s point too much considering the circumstances.

“Newt, I know exactly what you’d go through if I died, okay? I’ve lived that already. The only difference is the how, and the fact that we had a giant ‘what if’ hanging over our heads.” Thomas said.

“I’m not talking about the impossibility of you dyin’, love.” Newt murmured. “I’m talkin’ about the words you say, the way you say ‘em, and the way it makes me feel. You just don’t get how the way you call the shots… is unacceptable. Me saying it does nothing to make you understand.”

Before Thomas could burst in his frustration, Newt turned to him with an expression he’d never seen before and whispered, “But I think I can show you.”

That was the only warning Thomas had before Newt’s lips were on his and he was pushed into the stone wall behind him.

In a matter of seconds under the frantic pressed of Newt’s fingertips on his hips and the maddening slide of Newt’s tongue alongside his own Thomas had completely forgotten what they were talking about. In their panting breaths and small gasps as flesh ground together Thomas lost all sense but Newt and allowed himself to give over to the need that grew inside of him.

It took him a moment to realize that Newt’s fingers had left his hips—and that Thomas’s arms were now tied up above his head, locked in place by the thick vines that fell around him. Thomas wanted to ask questions, to fight against it, but Newt was relentless in his pursuit. He charged ahead and continued his assault on Thomas’s mouth with his lips, used his hands to grip Thomas’s ass and grind themselves together at a manic tempo that Thomas was hard pressed to keep up with.

The kiss lasted until Thomas had forgotten to question the immobility of his arms, and when he dropped his guard again he found that Newt’s mouth had left his. He was doubled over, fiddling on the ground, and Thomas felt that his legs were secured with vines in a similar manner to his arms.

“Newt—”

But again, Newt kissed Thomas and Thomas forgot to care.

Until Newt stepped away and Thomas lost sight of him in the dark—Newt had extinguished their torch or hidden it or something—and Thomas was left panting and tied up in the dark.

“Newt?” Thomas called out.

He squirmed against his bindings and questioned how he came to be in such a position in the first place, but he paused in his struggle at the sound of Newt’s voice off to the left.

“It’s like you find yourself in a position where you could have complained, could have stopped it at any moment, but you didn’t know you needed to.”

It took a moment to understand what Newt was talking about, but once he did, his heartbeat nearly pounded out of his chest. Newt was going to force Thomas to feel what he felt, to go through what he went through whenever Thomas changed the rules again.

And it was effective.

He hadn’t even thought to question Newt until after his legs had already been tied—or, that wasn’t right, was it? He’d wanted to after his arms, but Newt had just plowed forward and not give Thomas much of a chance. But Thomas had gone with it, because this was Newt.

He trusted Newt beyond a shadow of a doubt.

For the first time that night, true unease filtered its way into Thomas’s veins.

Hands gripped the edge of Thomas’s shirt and hiked it up and bundled it in such a way that it didn’t fall down again. The chill of the night and the stone behind him wasted no time in pebbling his skin, Thomas hissed at the contrast.

“The realization crawls through you slowly at first, the all at once, like diving into cold water,” Newt narrated.

Thomas was going to respond, to apologize, but clearly newt wasn’t done because once again his mouth met with Thomas’s. Thomas was cautious that time and the kiss was slow, tentative, questioning, but even that made heat dance along his skin and cloud his mind.

Even wary, even expecting a trick, kissing Newt was such an overwhelming experience that it beat out everything else. He couldn’t do it without giving over all of himself in whatever way he could. But then his trousers were open, and Newt pulled away from Thomas’s mouth to fall on his knees with a soft thud that was drowned out by the shout that ripped itself from Thomas’s throat when Newt’s mouth closed over his erection.

Thomas was gasping and groaning and his whole body shook with every swipe of Newt’s tongue along his length, every swirl along the tip, every vibration from the sounds Newt made as he worked Thomas closer to oblivion.

Thomas tired to break free of his bindings—every pore of his being screamed out for him to touch Newt’s face, his hair, to do _something_.

But he couldn’t. His arms and legs were tied, his hips were pinned down by Newt’s free arms while the other gripped the base of his erection and worked in tandem with his mouth. Try as he might, Thomas could do nothing.

He was helpless.

There was a point being made in there, somewhere, he was sure of it, but at that moment it was lost amongst the screams of pleasure that Thomas let loose when he came—and when Newt swallowed every last drop.

And then the heat of Newt’s mouth was gone, and Thomas was left hanging there in the dark, alone, and shivering from all the places he was exposed and the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Newt…” Thomas panted.

Only silence greeted him.

The silence went on long enough that Thomas was nervous again, and unsure of himself and where they stood with one another. All he wanted to do was hold Newt, to hear it would all be alright, but after what had just happened Thomas wasn’t sure he was entirely welcome.

He was torn in so many ways: between being overjoyed at this new thing that had happened between them, his exaltation at Newt’s touch, and everything else.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?

“D’you get it yet, Tommy?” Newt asked from where he was suddenly directly in front of Thomas. His voice was rough in such a way that it reminded Thomas of what that throat was just doing, but not enough so that he couldn’t focus. “How something can be a good thing but… the journey to get is… and the aftermath…”

Newt was having trouble saying what he meant, but for the first time Thomas felt like he actually understood what it was the other boy was saying.

“I get it,” Thomas rasped, voice raw from his earlier screams. “I do, I get it, I swear, please just cut me loose so I can—”

Thomas didn’t need to finish his sentence before Newt had sliced through the vines holding him in place and helped to set his clothes to rights.

“I’m sorry, love,” Newt whispered, frantic and unsure. “It’s the only way I could think, I didn’t mean—”

But Thomas shushed him with a gentle kiss and strong arms around quaking shoulders.

“It’s alright love,” Thomas whispered back, stealing Newt’s word. “I understand, I’m sorry, I promise…”

And Thomas set to work showing Newt exactly how much Thomas cared and how okay everything was going to be.

And how much he loved him.


	6. Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People, as a whole, are inherently good.
> 
> It's the world around them that forces them to become otherwise.

“So, are we going to talk about it or are we just gonna sit here starin’ off into space for another hour?” Newt drawled.

Minho’s shoulders tensed next to him where his friend was trying in vain to ignore Newt’s presence. The problem with that being, of course, that Newt didn’t _like_ being ignored. Never had, really. There wasn’t a quicker way to bring about his rather persistent streak than attempting to ignore him—something most likely taken into consideration when Zart and Frypan had found him that morning and sent him off to bring Minho round.

The idiot had spent the entirety of the night sittin’ up in their old watchtower feelin’ sorry for himself when there was work to be done. Not that he needed to be working overnight, but he at least needed _sleep,_ so he’d be somewhat functional, not to mention it’d been ‘daylight’ for several hours now and he’d yet to move.

It’s not that Newt didn’t understand, he did, what Minho was going through. The idea that the entire time they’d been in the Maze there’d been a way out right there… It was a difficult concept to grasp. Newt had been pestering Minho for just a mite over an hour at that point to no avail—no matter what branch of chipper conversation he’d not gotten a single reaction out of the bloke. Perhaps it was time for a different tactic.

Newt sighed, “Minho, you’re not the only one who missed it. And that’s even sayin’ there’s somethin’ to miss when we both know they probably had the bloody thing locked, y’know? It wasn’t part of our test.”

“I’m the only one who ran the Maze the entire time, Newt. Everyone else either quit, or was killed, or didn’t start off right away. But me? Me I ran that thing every way you could run it. I inspected every inch, every crack… it’d be one thing if I’d known there was something there, but the door never opened. But I didn’t.”

“Minho, neither did anyone else! We all stopped at that one spot, we all looked, but nary a one of us noticed the miniscule and all but invisible lines of a shuckin’ secret door.”

Minho turned even farther away from him and shook his head, clearly hating himself. Newt was sitting back, slightly farther away from the edge of the tower whereas Minho has his bloody legs hangin’ off of it.

Absently Newt wondered if Minho would still be sitting like that if he remembered the leap they’d all taken from Wicked’s tower. Then again it was possible, it wasn’t as though Minho had quite as much negative history with heights as Newt did.

It wasn’t as though Newt was afraid of the fall, just the opposite.

He worried he’d fallen too much in love with it.

Better just not to risk it full stop than to flirt with disaster… Tommy being the exception to that rule, as always.

“This is exactly what she wants, you realize?” Newt asked idly.

Minho groaned and appeared to give up, he collapsed so that he was on his back staring up at the ‘sky’ next to Newt, calves dangling.

“What are you talking about, Newt?” Minho demanded.

“The Ice Queen, of course,” Newt answered. “She wants to fuck with us, make our heads all screwy, so that she can get the upper hand.”

“You think that was all a calculated move to kill moral and make me wonder what I’m even good for since the only skill I’ve ever boasted was that stupid Maze, and I’ve failed at it three times already?” Minho snorted.

Newt was momentarily distracted by Minho’s count, “Three times?”

“I count not being able to figure out the Maze before Thomas showed up as a failure,” Minho explained.

Newt let him see the eye roll before he pressed to far more serious concerns.

“There is so much wrong with your earlier statement so I’m just goin’ ta go in order here, yeah?” Newt cleared his throat before going into his patented lecture mode that he only ever got to use on Thomas anymore, but could be easily recognized by any Glader who’d ever gotten themselves into any type of avoidable trouble.

It made him think fondly of Chuckie, before that careful fondness was replaced by fear and anger.

“You’re talking about a woman who literally kidnapped us, had a giant bloody Maze built, erased our memories, and cultivated every iota of our lives up until a certain point to her advantage. And now she’s been reduced to goin’ along with whatever Tommy says because he’s got super special blood for _some_ reason that no one can figure out, and she’s finally realized she’s naught but a pawn in his arsenal. Of course she’s making whatever moves she can in order to try and take advantage where she can! Tommy’s convinced she’s got some good in her and is the key to all of this but personally I’d rather take her out of the equation,” Newt ranted.

Minho looked at him askance but didn’t challenge him, Newt assumed it was due to Newt’s bloodthirsty streak that had once again reared its ugly head. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed killing, he didn’t, but in the world they lived in there was no such thing as everyone escaping with their hands clean. There were bad people in it, and as far as Newt was concerned if those people were going to continue to interfere in his life? They would face the consequences.

He remembered all too well how sick he’d gotten the first time he’d taken a life, after the attack on the Right Arm. At the time of the battle he’d been damn near mechanical in his motions—aim, shoot, reload, repeat. It wasn’t until later that night when he’d found a quiet spot behind a boulder that he’d thrown up everything he’d ever even thought about eating and had several mental breakdowns.

He’d also been slightly concussed, mind you, but that was not the point.

The point was that Minho seemed to forget that what he was to everyone was so much more than his abilities as a Runner.

“You know that Wicked called you ‘The Leader’?” Newt asked softly. When Minho’s eyes widened in confusion, Newt felt it safe to assume that was a detail they’d not passed on. “Yeah, they gave a few of us little nicknames about our roles in the Maze. Not all of us, but a fair few. It was another way they’d tried to control us, of course, another challenge thrown at our heads. I was ‘The Glue’, you were ‘The Leader’, and all Tommy’s said was ‘To be Killed’—exciting, isn’t it?”

“But I’m not…” Minho trailed off, but Newt knew what he meant anyway.

“Circumstances changed when Tommy and I came back, that’s true. We’ve sort of dragged you along for the ride at this point and your injury didn’t help things out in the beginning but I’m starting to think they meant a different sort of leadership for you. Tommy is the one leading us ‘round by our noses, but you’re the one who led me back from the Maze.”

Newt paused and looked down at Minho’s suddenly somber face. They’d never spoken about that day, not since it’d happened, but it was important they did, now.

“You led me out of there and led me to believe there was something worth saving about myself. In the other world, you led me to Tommy. You led Tommy to the right choices when I couldn’t, you lead us all, mate. You might not be callin’ all the shots, but you must be blind if you haven’t noticed that while the other obey myself and Thomas out of necessity… you’re the one they look to out of choice.”

Minho sat up fully and scooted back until he was even with where Newt sat crossed legged.

“They aren’t looking to me for anything other than reassurance that you two haven’t actually lost your shuck minds,” Minho said.

“And you think that’s not important?” Newt exclaimed. “They never got to know Tommy too well before all hell broke loose, and I’m not really the Newt the remember, I’ve changed too much. But you’re here, the person they’ve trusted for what they can remember of their lives to see things through and keep them grounded. So what if you never found that buggin’ door? For three years of not findin’ _anythin’_ new at all… you kept us all from losing hope. You kept us movin’, believin’ that there was a way for us all to be more than trapped kids in a Maze.”

There was silence, after that. Newt could hear the business of the Maze go on around them, could see the frankly alarming number of people milling about and trying to be helpful, and idly wondered where Tommy’d gone off to.

After they got back from the Maze that morning, Tommy’s been all but kidnapped by Ben, Gally, and Rianne (an unholy trio if there ever was one) to go off and do… something. Something dealing with one of Tommy’s “plans” to take a city by storm despite it knowing the storm was coming.

“Thanks,” Minho said softly, jarring Newt from his speculation.

Newt smirked at his best mate, “Don’t thank me yet, Min. Tell me—what’s goin’ on with you and Rachel?”

Minho flushed and shook his head, “I’ll tell you about Rachel if you explain why it is that your voice is extra rough this morning. Just what were you and Thomas getting up to out there?”

“We were keepin’ watch!”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Newt was sure that their laughter could be heard throughout all corners of the Glade.

 

 

When about an hour later Newt descended the tower, it was to find that the inhabitants of the Glade were far more organized than he’d originally thought. Someone had clearly givin them orders to do… something. Problem was that none of it really seemed connected to each other—despite a long conversation he night before where he and Tommy shot ideas back and forth on how to make their attack.

What he didn’t understand was the need for one extremely large rope, several barrels of grease and lard, every crop being harvested, and large crates being constructed near the livestock.

Had he missed something?

Thomas was nowhere to be found, but Newt did happen to run into Rianne over by the group of people cleaning weapons. He wasn’t expecting her glare, though it was explained relatively quickly.

“So, not only was my mother the reason the virus was invented… but she rebelled and is now dead. What’s even the point of giving me that information in the _first_ place?” Rianne demanded.

“I hadn’t realized Tommy’d told you about that,” Newt said. “If it helps at all, from what I knew of her she was an amazing woman.”

Rianne gave Newt an odd look, “Thomas didn’t tell me, Ava did, and Clyde confirmed it. But why am I not surprised that you both knew this information and met her before.”

She waved her arms in exasperation, causing the machete she held to waggle precariously in her grip. Newt cautiously took a step backwards.

“Ava’s about already?” Newt asked.

“She and her merry group of scientists came out a couple hours ago and took Thomas off into the med-hut over there since he refused to go down into the labs with them,” she explained casually.

Newt’s heart leapt into his throat, but just as he made to sprint off in that direction her small hand on his arm snapped out and refused to allow him to move.

“Gally and Frypan are with them, not to mention Aris and Rachel are listening out for any sign of trouble. You stay right there, there’s a few things I want to ask you about,” she ordered. Newt was compelled to agree despite the fact that neither Frypan nor Gally could keep Thomas from making rather poor choices. Still, though, he turned towards Rianne and motioned for her to fire away.

“Let’s start with why Thomas threw a vial of blood at Ava and go from there,” Rianne suggested in a tone that was not so much a suggestion as it was a demand.

Newt complied.

He explained about Thomas’s blood, about the cure, about how so far, the effects of it this time around have been far more drastic and effective than they had been the last go round. As he spoke, a large crowd grew that hung upon his every word. People asked questions, and as they did Newt realized that he was surrounded by the leadership councils of every other Maze that had been in motion. All of those who’d escaped, who’d been brought safely out of their coma, all of them immunes.

Newt explained what he and Thomas had gotten into an argument about on the Berg, how Thomas couldn’t save the world on his blood alone despite suddenly being overcome with the urge. When he finished his voice was hoarse and the crowd around him silent until Ben (who had apparently approached along with everyone else) asked the question that was apparently on everyone’s mind:

“The thing I don’t get is, why Thomas? Why is it only his blood?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” Newt said.

It was Brenda who gave a real answer, an answer that honestly made too much sense if it was true.

“It’s probably _not_ just Thomas, but they’ve been too busy experimenting on all of you to test you all individually. Thomas is just the one that they know for a fact works so apparently that means they drop everything to try and drain him dry,” Brenda drawled.

It was true.

How many of those standing in the Glade hadn’t lived the first time? What if some of them held more answers?

What if Thomas wasn’t the only one?

“Didn’t you say that even if we all couldn’t make a real cure, because of potency or something, we still had enough to at least stall the effects?” asked a male voice from a person Newt had never met.

“Yes, but what has that got to do with anything?” Newt answered.

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but if you have the enzyme they collect from Thomas and it’s super strong… strong enough to completely cure those fifteen people… why wouldn’t they just take a small amount of his super potent enzyme and combine it with the weaker ones to make a cure that way?”

Newt was stunned. He hadn’t thought of that, and had no idea if it would even work, but he didn’t get a chance to answer because there was a huge wave of assent throughout the crowd.

Another person piped up with, “And that way he wouldn’t need to die to help people, just regular blood donations from all of us would be more than enough to cure people over a several year span!”

It was true, if their method worked, that would be enough to manage it. To save his Tommy but keep them all from abandoning the rest of the world to death and misery in the process. The feel of the Crank underneath Newt’s skin never really left, probably never would, and he could only think of a handful of people he would wish such a thing upon.

“If their goal was to have the largest sample size, then didn’t go about it in the best way, did they?” Harriet mused. “So many died in our Maze, that’s so many chances at a viable cure just… gone. How does that even make sense?”

“Fear,” Aris answered from across the way. “She said that the enzyme was ‘awoken’ or something with fear and puzzles and stress, which is why they came up with the idea of the Mazes.”

“Still though,” Zart said. “If that’s the case they could have had us all be taken and disappear from the Mazes in odd ways to test us, not set loose the Grievers.”

“What’s a Griever?” Rachel asked.

“You didn’t have those?” Ben asked with his brows raised. “Giant spider things with razors and stingers and too many legs? Part machine and part animal?”

“No….” Rachel said, looking appropriately horrified. “We had giant bat things.”

“And we had these mutated snakes that lived in our Tunnels,” Rianne added.

“Clearly, they had no shortage of horrible monsters to throw at us all. The point remains that killing us off in bloody awful ways was not the way to go about it,” Newt said.

There was a noisy sort of silence throughout the area—people carried on their own conversations and musings, but no one shouted anything out to be heard by everyone else. Eventually, though, the din lessened to true quiet; everyone was staring at Newt as though they were waiting for something.

Or perhaps they looked to Rianne, because it was she that spoke next.

“So?” she asked the general populace.

Newt held his breath, unsure if the question being asked was the same as what he thought it was. If so, the girl was insane. After all everyone had been through at the hands of Wicked—who would say yes to allowing more tests? Who would willingly permit such a thing? It was too big, too much a thing to ask. Newt had tried to ask, tried to ask on behalf of Tommy, but he’d found his voice stuck in his throat. He wanted to beg and to grasp at anything that might help keep Tommy alive just a little while longer… but not that. Just as he and Thomas would not ask people to fight for them, he would not ask them to sacrifice themselves once again.

Turns out he hadn’t needed to.

All at once the immunes dropped what they were doing and followed Rianne towards the Medjack hut, where they would submit themselves willingly to see if they could maybe, all together, have a shot at saving the world.

Minho clapped Newt on the shoulder as he went past with a cheeky grin, “Makes you wonder, what would have happened if they’d asked us all in the first place instead of how it happened?”

Indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1\. If you didn't read the books, the bit about Wicked labeling them was true; however Thomas's tattoo read "To be killed by Group B" not just "To be killed" as I have stated here. I changed it because in my story merge we did away with the group names.
> 
> 2\. If you read the books, you'll notice I kept the movies version of Minho rescuing him after his jump instead of Alby.
> 
> 3\. Here begins my fake science. This is not the end of it, but dammit if James and Wes get to make up shit that makes no sense, I cannot be held responsible for taking what they give us and manipulating it to my own devices.
> 
> 4\. No one wants to be held responsible for the world ending and people dying, okay? The immunes are tired of being held prisoner, but compromise is a thing that exists. Not to mention the fact that the dude who has thus far negotiated their freedom and rescue is putting himself on the chopping block--OF COURSE THEY ARE GOING TO WANT TO HELP.
> 
> 5\. Yes, Thomas has a plan. Apparently. Hopefully. We'll see.


	7. Leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A variable isn't always a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Once again it took a bottle of wine to get me going, but here we are! Another chapter, fresh off the press!

Thomas was in the middle of watching Clyde do… something… with the vial of Thomas’s version of a cure when some random twitchy scientist approached them nervously. His gaze flickered from where Ava sat carelessly at the table despite the fury roiling off of both Gally and Frypan nearby, to where Thomas and Clyde were huddled by Clint and Jeff’s instruments.

Honestly the oddest part about all of it was that Clint was absent and letting them use his stuff without his strict supervision, but he had more important things to be doing anyway.

When no one broke the silence Thomas gestured for twitchy guy to say whatever he came to say and be done with it, the sooner he was out of this hut the better.

“There, um, appears to be an angry mob forming outside?”

His voice was thin and reedy, he turned his statement into a question, and he twitched in the direction of the window—Thomas wasn’t impressed with him.

Immediately, everyone turned to look accusingly at Thomas.

“Hey, I haven’t made any decisions in the past twenty minutes okay, that mob is not here because of me,” Thomas explained, offended.

As one the room shifted their attention to Ava, who merely raised an eyebrow and rose with fluid grace towards the door. Not that she opened it herself, mind you. While Clyde hurried to save his work behind Thomas, Ava gestured for twitchy scientist to open the door for her and stood off to the side.

Out of the potential line of fire.

Thomas shared a look with Frypan over her behavior before he moved to see the commotion outside—which turned out to be damn near every single kid in residence surrounding the cabin with a glare on their face.

Leading them, to no one’s real surprise, was Rianne.

“We’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Rianne announced, though it took a moment to realize that the words were directed at Ava and not Thomas himself.

 _What’s going on?_ Thomas sent out to both Rachel and Aris, but they both replied with the same thing.

_You’ll see._

“Why is it that doesn’t surprise me?” Ava drawled.

Thomas sought out Newt in the crowd; he needed to get his bearings, get oriented, figure out what was happening before it could be used against them all somehow. When he’d decided to have everyone come to the Glade, he’d forgotten that he would be dealing with a whole lot of leaders in a very small space—it was only a matter of time before one of them tried something that would set off a domino effect and inadvertently ruin Thomas’s whole plan.

When his eyes finally found Newt’s Thomas felt the connection down in his chest.

Something big was happening.

“Why didn’t you just ask us?” Rianne demanded. “Why didn’t you just explain and ask?”

“What are you going on about now, child?”

Ava had clearly lost her patience with them all.

“I’m _talking_ about how you wiped all of our memories instead of letting us know what was going on and why it was important.”

“The fear and puzzle solving portions of the brain are what generate the enzyme that makes you all immune, a blank slate was necessary for maximum effect,” Ava sighed. “This has all been explained to you already, I’ve no doubt. Why is it relevant now?”

“You’re honestly saying you couldn’t have found a way to scare us if we knew what was going on?” Ben called out from somewhere to the left—Thomas saw Gally’s head whip to that direction so quickly he probably strained something. “Lady, I know what’s going on _now_ and I’m still terrified.”

“I said for _maximum_ effect, Benjamin. Again, why does this matter? We have found our cure, the rest of you are largely irrelevant.”

Thomas had to tamp down the rise of anger; to Ava, ‘irrelevant’ was the same as ‘expendable’ and he was trying to break her of habits that would end in bloodshed.

Clearly it wasn’t going very well.

“You seriously think that Thomas is the only one of us that can cure people? Seriously? When was the last time we were even tested!” Minho yelled from next to Newt, and that started a symphony of voices raised in outrage and indignation to join him.

“This isn’t a buggin’ fairy tale!”

“You didn’t test Sam’s blood before the snake swallowed him whole! What if he had been a cure too?”

“We could all be a cure!”

“If you’re really scientists you wouldn’t find one person that works and then stop looking!”

“NOTHING ABOUT YOUR METHODS OR YOUR SCIENCE MAKES SENSE!”

“ _Test us now.”_

It was the last statement that rang out the loudest, and that made Thomas’s heart stop beating in his chest.

What the shuck were they doing?

“Are you all whacked or something? They’ve finally decided to leave you alone, and you’re giving yourselves right back to them?! I gave you all jobs, go back to them!” Thomas shouted at them; maybe if he dispersed them all fast enough, that would keep Ava from getting any ideas.

“Isn’t that what you’re doin’?”

Thomas locked eyes with Newt again, the question fresh from Newt’s lips, only to find something akin to fierce vindication inside them.

“My freedom was never part of the plan here, Newt. You know this.”

“And isn’t that a load of shit? Again, what makes you think _you’re_ so special?” Rianne demanded, drawing Thomas’s attention from where Newt was surely trying to kill him, his stare was so deep.

“Because during the other timeline—”

“Thomas, we were all _dead_ during that. I keep saying I’m not a real doctor, but even I know that living people can do more than dead people,” Clint stated from where he stood near Dmitri and Dan. “And even if all of us aren’t the cure, we ought to be able to make your blood go a bit further.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas heard himself ask, dumbfounded.

“Makes sense,” Frypan added. “Just like cookin’, right? If I tried to use enough broth in a soup to make it thick and filling without anything else, I’d run out of broth quick. If I add some flour in there though, some veggies, couple of roots…? Suddenly that broth goes a lot farther.”

Thomas blinked at Frypan.

The Glade blinked at Frypan.

Frypan blinked at Thomas and shrugged.

“He may actually have a point there,” Clyde mused. “ _If_ Thomas is as potent as I think he is, and _if_ there are others, and _if_ we could get the enzymes to mix well with one another… I’m not sure how much of an effect blood type will have with that either, but it could work.”

Thomas blinked again.

“I was wonderin’ somethin’, if the cure is in an enzyme from our brain… why are you collecting blood samples? How does all of that work?” Gally asked.

Clyde sighed. “It would take far too long to explain to you all.”

Gally squinted at Clyde for a moment before he spoke again, “You’ve got no idea how all of this works either, do you?”

Clyde and Ava’s silence was damning, and a mass of groans erupted from the crowd of teenagers.

“No wonder the damn world is ending,” Rianne muttered while she marched forwards and rolled up her left sleeve. “Hurry up and take a damn sample, I’ve got work to do.”

 

 

 

After Thomas spent nearly an hour wandering the Glade chasing the rumor of Newt’s location, it became clear the Newt was avoiding him.

The showdown that morning had changed all of Thomas’s plans—not only for the day, but if what the were hoping actually was true then Thomas would need to figure out how to control Ava when he was no longer the sole source of what she wanted.

If there was another immune capable of doing what she wanted? One more malleable and less of a risk?

There wasn’t a doubt in Thomas’s mind that Ava and all of her support would vanish faster than a fly in a sandstorm.

They would need to move quickly, far more quickly than Thomas had originally planned. In acknowledgment of that, Thomas went in search of Joe and the radios they’d left with him.

Gally thought that Thomas’s search with the radios was pointless, but that was because he didn’t know all of what Thomas was searching for. Yes, he hoped that some of the resistance surrounding the Last City survived. If they did it would mean that they’d have some assistance if they tried to take the city by tunnel, otherwise there would be an awful lot of ground to cover on two legs. To run in from _outside_ the broken city, fighting Cranks the whole way, by themselves? They might as well consider the tunnels untouchable.

Not for the first time, Thomas wished for horses.

Or motorcycles—he wasn’t picky.

But the resistance around the Last City wasn’t all that Thomas was after—it would be a long shot, especially since the Right Hand was already demolished by Janson—but if there was any chance that the North Force was still out there, still fighting, Thomas needed to know.

Joe was set up near the South wall, he had a table covered with bits and pieces that Thomas couldn’t identify, and his head was bent low along with Jorge’s as they both tinkered with something under a magnifying glass.

Thomas waited patiently for them to be finished and tried not to be disappointed that the rumor of Newt being near the old tinkerers was false.

“What can we do for you, mijo?” Jorge asked after a few moments. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag and leaned against the table he’d been bent over previously. Joe reached up and stretched before cracking his neck in a few places.

“Having any luck so far?” Thomas asked.

“We’d be doing better if you’d just let us use the radio on the Berg, Thomas. Repairs on these is slow going, and I’m not sure of their range,” Joe answered.

Thomas made a face and ran his hand through his hair, “I don’t know how secure communications are on the Berg. Janson’s already contacted us—the last thing I want him to notice is who I’m trying to communicate with. If they’re even still out there, that is.”

“We’ve got a base station almost working now, and if we are lucky, we can tap into the trunking system of the repeater that’s already built into the communications of this place without anyone noticing,” Jorge explained. “If all goes well with that, all that’ll be left is finding someone else out there.”

Thomas nodded and chewed his lip for a moment before shaking his head decisively.

“It’s our only option, we have to know if we have backup out there,” he said.

Jorge rose his eyebrow, “I though the blonde lady was our backup?”

Thomas scowled, “That was before someone decided to try and take away her damn leash.”

 

 

 

 

_Rachel?_

_Yes?_

_Are you in the hut with everyone giving samples?_

_I am, do you need Minho? He vanished with nNwt not too long ago._

_No, I just need you to make sure of something for me._

_What’s that?_

_Get everyone out of there before they start doing tests. And I mean everyone._

_Okay… why?_

_If there’s another cure I can’t control Ava anymore. I can’t make sure they’re safe._

_Shit._

_Yeah._

_You got it boss, I’ll grab Aris._

_Thanks. Do you know where Newt and Minho went, by chance?_

_Nope._

_Thanks anyway. Make sure they get out._

It was nightfall before Newt and Minho found him.

“Are you done being angry with us yet?” Minho asked. He plopped unceremoniously onto the bench around the fire pit Thomas sat upon and passed him a bowl of stew. “Figure you’ve had plenty of time to _stew_ all day over this.”

Newt groaned and sat down on the ground facing Thomas, “Mate I told you not to go with that one.”

“It’s an ice breaker, Newt.”

“It’s a bloody disaster is what it is.”

“I was gonna use it as a segue!”

“A segue into what?” Thomas asked, interrupting the two before they could really get started. Newt passed him a spoon and brushed his fingers along Thomas’s when he pulled away. That small gesture did more to reassure Thomas than the number of backup plans he’d come up with throughout the long day.

“Into why you shouldn’t be mad that you might have lost your way of controlling Ava,” Minho explained, suddenly serious.

Thomas started—he hadn’t realized they knew why he was hell bound and determined to keep everybody else out of it.

“Wasn’t until you fought everyone offering themselves up to be tested that I figured it out—if there’s another cure, there’s more variables,” Newt added.

“But we can protect them. We’ve been meeting with everyone, making sure they know the deal, and every single person is willing to do what you would’ve done,” Minho said.

“And what’s that?” Thomas asked.

“Bleed themselves dry if they have to.”

Newt’s eyes were solemn and, for the first time in a while, understanding.

“We won’t have—”

Thomas threw up his hand to stop Minho from talking so he could concentrate on the suddenly frantic voice of Rachel in his head.

_Ben, where’s Ben?_

“Where is Ben?” Thomas asked loudly. He jumped to his feet and climbed his bench to see over the masses of people and he was relieved when Minho and Newt did the same without asking any questions.

_Thomas, where is he?_

_We are looking, calm down, what’s going on?_

_Find him._

“There! Figured it’d be easier to find Gally first. He’s near the cook hut with Gally and Fry—what’s happening?” Minho said.

“I don’t know yet,” Thomas said, but he was already focused on Rachel.

_He’s with Gally and Frypan, why?_

_Grab him. Aris, do you have the others?_

_Yes, I just found Rianne and Marjolene._ Added Aris’s voice in Thomas’s mind.

 _Will one of you please explain what’s happening?_ Thomas demanded.

_Thomas, you have maybe two minutes before the scientist’s swarm and the results are announced. Grab. Ben._

Shit.

“Grab Ben, now!” Thomas yelled, and the three Gladers sprinted towards the cook hut as quickly as they could.

Minho go there first.

“Oi! What’re you klunk heads doing?” Gally cursed when Thomas knocked over his food in his haste to grab Ben.

 _Aris, where are you with the others?_ Thomas asked.

_Going to the center of the crowd, Rachel is meeting us there. Figure the more people they have to go through to get them, the better._

_On it._

“We gotta go, come on. Grab a weapon but Ben we need to _go_!” Thomas said, tugging on Ben’s arm and dragging him to where we thought Aris might be headed.

Thomas largely ignored the questions he was asked and the exclamations of others—Ben rolled with his weirdness, like always, and soon they met with Rachel and Aris who each dragged two people behind them. The only one Thomas recognized was Rianne, the others were complete strangers, but they at least appeared to have an idea of what was happening. Upon being deposited by Rachel and Aris, all four of them grabbed a blade and positioned it near an artery, resolve on each of their faces.

“Form a circle, no one comes near here, got it?” Thomas yelled out. He shoved Ben towards the others, heart pounding. He could see movement from the Medjack hut; a figure in white approached them.

“Thomas what’s happening,” Gally asked, a quiver in his voice when he saw Ben grab his own dagger and move it into place. Ben must have figured it out.

One thing, Thomas thought as he cocked his weapon and pointed it at Ava’s cold and grinning face, that he would always appreciate about his group of friends was that despite them having no idea what was going on, they mirrored his actions without question. A strong circle was formed around the five immunes and weapons were raised and pointed in all directions, just in case.

Ava was openly smiling, and Thomas threw off the safety and cocked his gun before he answered, “Look’s like I’m not the only cure after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. The whole "Cure" business.
> 
> In the books? There was no cure. they never found it. There was no false hope and Thomas is the chosen one shit. SO for me to merge everything... I had to explain it all SOMEHOW as to why the fuck they think only Thomas and his super special blood can save them all. You did see that tag for fake science right? Good. Their science is fake, I'm not sure mine is much better, but at least I'm trying to use logic here. Thomas can't be the only cure out there.
> 
> Also that bit about radios I didn't pull out of my ass--i work with radios for a living and trunking systems and repeaters are things that would be used. How damn, I tossed in real science. Rach would be so proud of me.


	8. Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is his own special brand of crazy, but even he is tired of Ava's shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I posted within a few days! I'm not making you wait forever! It's a short chapter this time, but it has a lot in it if you've been paying attention to where Thomas's head is at.

“Now, Thomas. I hardly think any of this is necessary,” Ava said, voice like honey.

“You wouldn’t.”

“We are allies, Thomas. I’ve already picked my side—why the dramatics?”

Thomas didn’t answer. Instead he did his level best to search for any incoming threats while not taking his eyes off of Ava.

But there were none.

All around the Glade Thomas saw kids with their weapons, or wielding whatever they were holding as if it were one, but not a single threat to be fought off. Slowly his breathing eased, but he didn’t know what to do in this type of situation. On his right he saw Newt shift and lower his weapon—only then did Thomas repeat the motion.

The only weapons that weren’t stowed were those held by the newest cure candidates, and Gally.

Thomas didn’t blame him.

“Thank you,” Ava said. She still hadn’t lost the smile and seeing it did nothing to ease the tension swimming inside of him. “Now, we can plan.”

 

 

 

“While their enzyme is strong enough to actively fight the virus, it’s not nearly as potent as yours, Thomas. And we’ve got a theory on it,” Ava explained. She was seated calmly in a chair at the center of the Gathering hall, where people crowded in at every corner in order to try and hear what was discussed.

“ _I_ have a theory,” Clyde corrected with a glare. “And it’s all down to stress, really. We know which aspects produce this enzyme and we know that you, Thomas, have it in droves where no one else does. There’s only one real reason for it, honestly.”

Clyde shrugged and waved his mass of papers in the air, “The time travel. Your brain is coping with the stress of two sets of memories; everything you experienced during your original timeline, plus the stress of the incident that brought you to _this_ timeline, and everything you’ve gone through here. It’s effectively got your brain producing this enzyme at an unprecedented rate and strength.”

Thomas tried to brush the chill from his skin discreetly and said nothing.

“Are there any side effects from this?” Newt asked, every intent on Thomas’s safety.

“The strength of the enzyme itself is the side effect,” Clyde began, but Newt cut him off.

“I mean negative ones,” Newt clarified with a jerk of his hand.

Beside him Minho snorted, “You mean other than the world wanting to drain him dry?”

Thomas didn’t even need to look up to know the look that Newt would be throwing at him, and he couldn’t even feel relief that for once it wasn’t directed at himself.

Minho coughed, “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

 _Escape route secure. Ish._ Rachel informed him.

 _Ish?_ Thomas asked.

_Don’t ask, it’s as good as Harriet can make it._

Thomas let his attention drift back to the conversation in front of him.

“—as far as we know. We’ve never seen anything negative come from it,” Clyde finished.

Newt nodded and motioned for Clyde to continue with his original analysis, but once again he was interrupted.

“So what is it you’re going to want from us, exactly?” Rianne demanded.

Thomas turned to face her, to face all five of them, and was proud to see that they (plus Gally) each still had their blades in hand. He tried not to think too hard about being proud of people ready to kill themselves, but to feel anything else would be hypocrisy.

And they’ve already had several chats about that.

Rianne, now that he knew to look for it, looked the most like her mother that Thomas had ever seen in that moment. Her eyes were unreadable but the tension in her body was coiled to strike without hesitation at the slightest hint of something going the wrong way. She was a weapon, a living weapon, begging to be pointed at her enemies and unleashed upon them.

Cure blood or not, Thomas knew exactly where he wanted her when they took the Last City.

He wondered what her job was in her Maze.

“Well, we want to experiment. Take more samples,” Clyde explained.

“We know that you can serve as a cure, but if the goal is to mix your product with Thomas’s, or even with the product of others, and attempt to make a serviceable cure from that mixture, we will need to draw more of it and examine the results,” Ava said.

Suddenly Thomas wasn’t cold anymore.

The room went still, the kind of still that came before a punishing crash of rain from above, and all Ava did was roll her eyes.

Thomas felt his eye twitch, from the corner of his eye he could see Newt’s fingers flexing above his holster.

Gally gave up all pretense and cocked his weapon with an eyebrow raised at Thomas.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Thomas released the breath he’d held and gave just the tiniest shake of his head.

Hiding his reaction to Newt’s growled cursing was more difficult than it should have been, considering the circumstances.

“Thinking of _our life force_ as a product is the reason this world is wasting away a little more with every breath you take,” Thomas stated calmly. He then deliberately turned away from her and focused on Clyde. “You, you I think actually want to end this madness.”

“Why?” Clyde asked, pure scientific curiosity.

Thomas remembered the shock of electricity he’d felt when he’d first passed a vial of his modified blood to him, back in the Facility. He’d gone too far at that point paying attention to details like that to ignore one so blatant, an obvious echo if… _something_.

“Call it intuition,” Thomas said instead. “How much will you need from all of us?”

Clyde blinked at Thomas in confusion, “We took an average of two pints from everyone earlier, we don’t need more from them, not at this stage. All we need is a couple pints from you and we can get to work.”

Right. Because of course they would have grabbed as much as they could from all of them when they took the initial samples. Thomas wasn’t sure why he was surprised.

“Then I suppose it’s time for the final round of negotiations,” Thomas said.

“What.”

The room turned to Ava at her protest. Thomas raised an eyebrow at her and waited for her to explain her outburst.

“I have given you everything you’ve asked for, without protest, from the moment you struck a deal with me. What else could there possibly be to negotiate on? How often are you going to renege on your promises?” she demanded.

Thomas’s smile wasn’t friendly, he knew.

“I have what you need, the cure for the human race and complete salvation on a silver platter. You’ll do as I say and be glad I didn’t decide you were as useless as Janson, and so won’t suffer the same fate.”

Ava said nothing.

“Evolution, remember?” Rianne said sweetly. “You adapt, or you die.”

She said ‘die’ far more happily than Thomas was comfortable with, but that could be dealt with later, when Thomas wasn’t enjoying the pale fury etched onto Ava’s features.

“What is it that you want, Thomas?” Ava said through clenched teeth.

“Let’s talk about trains, and any allies you might still have in the City.”

Ava’s eyes widened in shock, whatever she’d been expecting it wasn’t that.

“Trains,” she repeated.

“Trains, bergs, and a way to evacuate the civilians in the City, yes.”

“ _More_ bergs?” Minho asked. “That why you sent Dan off with the others? So he could _teach_ them?”

Thomas only smiled and kept his gaze on Ava.

“Why are we evacuating them? _How_ are we evacuating them?” Gally demanded. Given that he was still waving a gun around Thomas gave him at least a partial answer.

“If they don’t get out, they’ll die in the assault; the whole point of us donating our medical services is to save them, remember?”

“Assault,” Ava repeated. “You don’t have the kind of resources for an assault of any kind, not if you want your friends back. Your only options are stealth and luck.”

“Not yet,” Thomas corrected. “But I’m about to. You’re about to give them to me.”

“Thomas, I don’t know what kind of power you think I have, but I don’t control armies. I control scientists.”

There was a beat of silence before Newt caught on to what it was Thomas wanted, and his reaction was as beautiful as ever.

“Oh, bloody buggering hell Thomas,” Newt groaned. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Thomas smiled.

 

 

Negotiations took far longer than they should have considering Ava didn’t actually have a choice about any of it. If it were possible for her to acquire what it was Thomas wanted, she would. If she tried to lie about being about to provide any of it, and they would know because Rachel and Harriet would be sticking to her like burrs, then Thomas would cut his losses and let Rianne kill her.

With every moment that passed they had less and less time for mistakes and dead weight.

Thomas collapsed onto his makeshift bed in Homestead and pulled Newt into his arms with a contented sigh. Sun up would be in just a few hours and there was so much that needed to be done. Thomas was exhausted, so bone tired that despite the warmth pooling in his stomach at having Newt flush against him, all Thomas had the energy for was to sleep. Newt’s lack of resistance or demand for answers during the walk from the meeting to Homestead meant he was probably just as burnt out.

“Tommy?” Newt whispered.

“Hmmn?”

“You do realize that first thing in the morning I’ll be badgering you about what it is you plan on _doing_ with everything you requested, yeah?”

“Yeah love,” Thomas sighed. “I know you will.”

Thomas felt Newt stiffen against him for a moment and couldn’t keep the smirk from forming. He waited a moment to see if Newt would comment on Thomas stealing the endearment; when Newt relaxed back onto Thomas’s chest, he decided that he evidently didn’t mind.

Thomas allowed himself to enjoy the rare moment of peace, to savor the feel of Newt pliant in his arms, contented and sleepy, and bent his head slightly forward to nuzzle into his hair. Newt’s happy hum replaced the warmth in his gut with a light airy feeling in his chest, and Thomas grinned.

“Tommy I’cn feel ya bein’ smug up there,” Newt mumbled. “Nun’ve tha’.”

Thomas grabbed the hand Newt used to gently swat at him, and instead laced their fingers together and brought them to his lips.

“Sap,” Newt said, but the effect was ruined by Thomas feeling the smile against his heart. “G’to sleep, ya’ve ‘splainin’ to do in th’mornin’.”

“Goodnight Newt,” Thomas whispered.

“Night Tommy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing fluffy bits is so hard for me, I know I don't give them to you guys often, so I hope you enjoyed the gift! Not too much to explain in here, you'll see what he's up to soon enough, but there were a few 11!verse easter eggs in there for those of you you've follow it! As always thank you for the love!


	9. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choice matters.
> 
> Until it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! I'm still going strong! HA!

“You’re not telling us everything,” Newt chastised.

“Of course I’m not telling you everything, I never tell anyone everything, it’s much easier to keep everyone alive that way.” Thomas said, waving off Newt’s disapproval.

“This coming from the shank hell bound and determined to tell everyone we’re from the bloody future.”

Thomas shrugged in acceptance and waited for the reactions of the others. He’d had a wonderful night of sleep, had woken on his own without disaster striking or the need to get on the road pulling him from his pillow. He’d been able to spend a precious few moments lying awake with Newt—the light from outdoors fell on them gently and illuminated the way Newt’s soft breathing was synchronized with Thomas’s own. They’d both been awake for it, awake and tracing light fingertips along each other’s skin aimlessly, but neither of them had said a word.

Thomas would treasure the memory of it for the rest of his life.

They were all sat at the table in Frypan’s kitchen; Thomas, Minho, Newt, Clint, Zart, Gally, Ben, Rachel, Harriet, Aris, Brenda, Jorge, Miyo, Rianne, and Frypan himself.

The table was a bit cramped, to say the least, but Fry point blank refused to allow anyone to sit on his counters. His friend was back in his element, his happy place, his small little kingdom of the world. The kitchen was non-stop in motion with the amount of work it took to feed the large number of people who’d suddenly descended upon it. Many people had insisted they could fend for themselves, some of them having been in charge of food in their own mazes, but he would have none of it.

Nobody went hungry in Frypan’s kitchen, and as far as he was concerned that included everyone in the Glade. Thomas had even caught him sneaking food to Clyde and a few of the less-antagonizing scientists who’d apparently been up through the night researching ways to mix all of the blood with Thomas’s to the best effect.

“Before we start going into what he isn’t telling us,” said Zart, “Maybe we should work with what he has. For instance, how many _exactly_ are we expecting to go and fight? I need numbers if I’m going to try and make up packs for them.”

Clint and Frypan nodded in agreement, “We can all take more on us this time, now that we aren’t trying to keep it a secret, but we don’t have enough resources to make everyone a kit. Especially if too many people stay with us.”

Thomas took another bite of his sandwich and took his time chewing before responding.

“I don’t have numbers, won’t have them until after we pull everyone together and give them all the choice,” he said.

Newt cleared his throat, “Some of them the choice. A lot of them are too young for this, mate. And Joe’s going. I’ll not bury him again if I can help it.”

“You can’t steal a man’s choice from him _hermano_. If fighting is what he wants…” Jorge said, but Thomas shook his head.

“I’m with Newt on this one. In the old timeline, Joe had been around for a while. He was invested and had the skills we needed already. While his work on the radios will be a huge amount of help if we can contact anyone, he doesn’t have anything so special to bring to the table that he shouldn’t go and be with his newborn child.”

“And I’ll not bury him again,” Newt said again with emphasis.

“That too.”

“I still don’t see how you’re planning on turning those kids into an army—they have no fighting experience at all,” Brenda snorted.

It was Rianne who threw her knife from across the table to pin Brenda to the chair by the sleeve of her shirt.

“Just because we weren’t fighting people, except for when we did, doesn’t mean we didn’t learn how to fight. We fought _monsters,_ little girl. I’ll like to see you come face to face with what our youngest learned to deal with every day.”

Frypan reached out and took the knife from the chair and waved it at everyone, “No throwing knives in my kitchen. You’ll blunt them.”

Minho snorted.

“So we sort out the one’s who’re gonna get on a Berg and fly ahead to Haven and the one’s who’re gonna stay here, we train them while Newt and Thomas figure out the rest?” Gally asked. “Seems simple enough to me, why are we still sitting around here talking?”

There was a beat of silence before Ben spoke up for the first time that morning, “What about those of us with the cure in us? Will you keep us from the fight?”

“Be a little hypocritical to do that, don’t you think?” Thomas replied.

“Yes, and hypocrisy is _bad.”_ Minho added helpfully.

Thomas rolled his eyes at him and continued, “It’s your blood, your choice what you do with it. The way it should have always been.”

Ben nodded and stood, “Then I go with you.”

Somehow that statement brought warmth along with the pit of dread that filled his stomach.

One by one the people around the table stood with Ben and nodded at Thomas—they’d follow Thomas despite not knowing the extent of what he was planning, to whatever end. Overcome with emotion, Thomas looked to Newt who still sat.

He smirked, “I told you once that I knew I’d follow you anywhere. Hasn’t changed, love.”

“Then let’s get everyone’s attention and sort out the big damn heroes from those who’ve got half a brain.”

 

 

“Just so we’re clear, the ones without half a brain are also the big damn heroes?”

Thomas looked to where Ben stood on his left, as always. There was a glint in his eyes that Thomas didn’t know how to describe; it was less like a joy of life and more like a dare to the universe to bring him down.

Thomas didn’t like that dare, the universe had managed it once already, he couldn’t handle losing Ben a second time.

He couldn’t handle losing _any_ of them a second time.

As if on cue, Newt spoke up on his right.

“Well y’see, if we’ve got too much brain there isn’t enough space up there for the thing that tells us to go runnin’ _towards_ the scary bit.”

Thomas snorted at them both and left them to their bantering to instead pay attention to the large crowd growing before him. They’d managed to pull everyone from their tasks or their wandering far faster than Thomas had anticipated—he still had no idea what he was supposed to say. What was the cut off? How young was too young? Truth be told, Thomas felt even he was too young for what was about to happen.

None of them were children anymore.

A high wail from the back of the crowd corrected Thomas, and he shook his head with a smile. Ian, of course, was still a child. How could he forget?

Two fingers formed a solid line down Thomas’s right forearm in silent question, and Thomas answered with a nod. The crowd finally quieted with that oppressive sort of silence you could only find in a large group of people and Thomas found himself choking on the weight of deja-vu and fear. How many times did he have to invite people to die with him?

His leg shook with nerves that went silent at the two taps on his knuckles—taps that came from two directions. In shock, Thomas looked from Newt to Ben, who was grinning like the cat who’d got the cream. He raised an eyebrow in challenge before he repeated the gesture.

Thomas looked to Newt who shrugged and did the same.

_We are here. We are with you._

Thomas took a deep breath and then spoke.

“A little louder man, we can’t hear you in the back!” someone shouted.

Thomas cleared his throat in embarrassment before he tried again.

“Good morning!” he yelled louder, and this time got nods from all around. “I’m gonna keep this short so we can all move on, but here it is. Not everyone made it here safely. There are still people held captive by Janson in the Last City, I don’t know how many. The only people I know he has for a fact are my friends, but there may be others as well.”

When he wasn’t speaking, the Glade echoed with a silence so thick he’d never heard it before. He had all of their attention; in the distance he saw a figure in white step out of a building to see what was going on. Fine, let her listen.

“Perhaps more important than that, though not very, is the fact that Janson is also from where Newt and I are from, and he knows that a cure exists. What he does _not_ know is that I’m no longer the only person capable of providing it. That gives us an advantage, but not much of one. Janson will never stop hurting us, hunting us, killing us, until he’s either killed us all or gotten his hands on a cure. I can’t let that happen,” Thomas paused to clear his throat and his mind before he could continue. “I’m bringing the fight to him, and while he thinks he’s prepared? He’s not gonna see this coming.”

A small puff of air to his right told Thomas that Newt was amused, and Thomas loved that he could read his mind even in this: ‘ _Of course he won’t see it comin’, even we don’t know what you’re on about.’_

The moment of levity allowed Thomas to finish everything else he needed to say.

“I’m not here to ask you to fight with me. I’m here letting you know that there _will be_ a fight, and from there you can make you own decisions. Well, almost all of you. If you are _clearly under_ 15 years old, you’ll be going with Justin and Joe to the Safe Haven ahead of the rest of us,” There was an explosion of mummering at this, and a few very angry faces, but Thomas held up his hand to silence them. “I’m not saying you aren’t capable, but we simply don’t have the resources for us all to go marching on the City together. Besides, a good friend of mine once told me that having a back-up plan every once and awhile wasn’t a bad thing. The human race needs to survive, and we are the future. So that’s how it is. If you’re going ahead to Haven, go over to the elevator where Justin is waiting to give you more instructions. If you’re staying to fight? Go over to the fire-pit where Zart and Gally are gonna start getting you organized. For now, train and train hard. That’s all I’ve got.”

Thomas nodded and stepped back to grab the cup of water Frypan came to give him, carefully keeping his back turned from the crowd so he couldn’t see the ways the crowds dispensed themselves.

“Not bad, love.”

“I dunno,” Minho sighed from his spot against a nearby tree. “I think I could’ve done better.”

Thomas couldn’t help but snort, “’Be careful, don’t die’ isn’t exactly a speech, Min.”

Minho tilted his head to the side and squinted at Thomas, “Wrong Minho, buddy. He, however, is a genius. Short, straight to the point, conveys both a helpful tip and the ultimate goal.”

He’d forgotten. For just a moment he’d forgotten; shame coiled deep in his gut, cold and slimy. He never wanted to merge people by accident, to dishonor those he’d lost by pretending he had them by his side. Thomas squeezed shut his eyes and turned away his face, both in grief and apology.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Two taps on his knuckles and Thomas could breathe again.

“Are you kidding? I love hearing about Other Me!” Minho exclaimed with a clap on Thomas’s shoulder. “But the story behind that little speech of his is gonna have to wait, looks like you’ve got company.”

Thomas looked up to see both Joe and Eva, the pilot girl from before who Thomas hadn’t known was even among them, fast approaching.

Eva reached them first.

“Please don’t shoot me,” she opened with.

Thomas sighed.

“Contrary to popular belief I don’t actually go shooting people just for the hell of it,” he said.

He also pointedly ignored the number of raised eyebrows aimed in his direction.

“Whatever you say, buddy. Listen, you want me to be the pilot to take those kids to the Safe Haven.” Eva said, hands on hips.

Thomas took a moment to study the girl; she was average build, average height, but there was a stubbornness in her mouth and a tilt to her head that told him more about her than she would probably ever be comfortable with. If they were truly going to save the world, Thomas supposed that he would have to start trusting people eventually.

“Why?” Newt asked while Thomas lost himself in thought.

“Well for one thing I actually know how to get there. For another, there is no way your other pilots are experienced enough to make that trip yet. Dan, yes, but he’s probably going to be the main pilot for you guys. Your others need more experience before you send them out that far.”

Thomas didn’t have to look around the group to see that they all agreed with her points.

“Fine, but if you do anything shady? There _will_ be people on that Berg who will kill you.”

Eva nodded and didn’t blink at the threat; Thomas nodded to himself about his decision to try and trust her a bit, though he’d put extra people watching her every move. Just in case.

“Brenda? Can you take her over to where Justin is and maybe explain _exactly_ how we expect people who work with us to behave?” Thomas asked.

Brenda’s answering grin was wonderful to see; she’d been withdrawn since their conversation by the Wall of Names and Thomas hadn’t had the time to sit with her and see where her head was at. One of the first things he planned on working on when he had the time was his relationship with her, Brenda was his sister is every way that mattered. His heart ached at the loss of her closeness.

When they walked off Thomas turned to speak with Joe, only to find that Newt appeared to be in a stare off with him.

Thomas hesitated and looked over at Ben and Minho, who shrugged and were absolutely no help whatsoever.

Should he interrupt? Let them keep going? It was like there was a battle of wills happening right before his eyes and Thomas had no desire to get caught in the backlash of it.

“So…” Thomas ventured, but neither of them reacted. Thomas ran his hands down his face in frustration; moments like these he almost missed combat, at least then he knew what he was supposed to be doing.

“Listen, Joe,” Thomas tried again, this time he spoke right through the silence. “You’ll do more good with Fran and Ian, helping to organize everyone when you get to the beach.”

“What you mean to say is that I’ll be safe there.” Joe countered without breaking eye contact with Newt.

Thomas exhaled and made an empty gesture with his arms but was at a loss of what to say.

“I made a promise Fran, to Ian, that’d I’d do whatever I could to make sure you got back to them,” Newt said in a voice soft but firm. “I did a shite job at keeping it, before. I’ll not fail again.”

Thomas turned in shock to stare at Newt; he hadn’t known about the promise.

“Newt, I get it. But you can’t rob me of—”

“Watch me.”

There was silence, again, but it had lost its edge. Thomas knew Joe; he could tell that his issue was at having the decision made for him, not the decision itself. Thomas could see the exact moment that Joe caved and allowed himself a breath of relief.

“Well, if I’m leaving in the morning, I suppose we should sort out the radio signal I picked up sooner rather than later,” Joe said.

Thomas’s heart leapt into his chest and he sprinted towards the radio table without another thought.

 

 

 

_\--istance. Can… -cation changed. Find at five five—even three._

Thomas couldn’t believe it. They’d found them, they’d _found them_. The signal was rough and could use some cleaning, and the coordinates were clearly in some sort of code, but that wasn’t the point. The Resistance was still out there, still fighting, still _alive_. Somehow Janson hadn’t gotten them all.

Thomas shared an elated grin with Newt and Minho when they finally caught up. When Newt heard the message and the light of recognition ignited in his eyes, Thomas couldn’t help but pull him into a kiss of victory.

They weren’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things to remember:
> 
> -Eva was the pilot from I Will Follow that taught Dan; she originally appears in a story called 'The Eden Switch' by tattered_dreams, an author in 11!verse
> 
> -In case you didn't read 'Talk Me Home' by comebacknow (which you really should wtf is wrong with you) this chapter pulls a lot from there, since that story is effectively my prequel. Joe died in it, and there was also a secondary resistance group to the Right Arm, called the North Force. That's who Thomas believes they've contacted.
> 
> I think those are the only things to consider?? Idk the farther I push canon into the dumpster the more I forget I should clue you guys in on. Hope you liked!


	10. Claim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is a mad bastard, and Newt asks for what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ONE YEAR OF THIS STORY!
> 
> I'm so sorry I vanished. I got distracted writing the Newtmas Holiday fic 'Tuesday' (which is my favorite thing i've ever written, please read it) and then life kept getting in the way. Super frustrating. I truly didn't mean to go so long without an update, and I am endlessly grateful to all of you who wait so patiently and have stuck with this story for a WHOLE YEAR OH MY GOD?!?
> 
> Anyways, I made this chapter longer and gave you something special to apologize. Enjoy <3

It was days before they had everything sorted enough to say that they were ready.

Well, ready in the sense that they’d learned that they’d need more than just Eva to pilot everyone to Haven, had her train auxiliary pilots, gathered everything up, and cleaned up the radio signal.

It was the North Force, Newt was sure of it.

Though he’d never actually met them in person, their transmissions sounded exactly like how Vince had once described the way they should. It was all a hard, confusing experience, to say the least. Newt was lost in thought over it, standing near where Thomas and some of the others were going over knife fighting, and tried not to think of what the morning would bring.

It didn’t work.

So gone in his thoughts was he that Newt didn’t ever hear her approach.

“We haven’t finished discussing this, you realize,” spoke the Ice Queen herself.

“There’s naught to discuss. You do what we say or we let the bloody virus take you. And good riddance.” Newt responded.

They both watched Thomas demonstrate the proper way to grasp a blade if you were aiming for the heart; it required strong fingers and a lax wrist, otherwise you’d lose the blade between the ribs and be without a weapon. Ava appeared disgusted by the display, which made Newt inordinately happy.

“You demand too much, Mr. Newton.”

Newt snorted and rolled his eyes; Thomas chose that moment to look up, but Newt waved the tension in Thomas’s shoulders away with a shake of his head. He could handle Ava without bloodshed, for now.

“I haven’t demanded shite, Tommy has.”

“You intend to take all of the immunes either with you into a battle you won’t survive or send them away to an island that is rather difficult to reach if you have neither a plane nor a ship and leave myself and my colleagues behind to fend for ourselves after draining us of all our resources,” Ava said acerbically.

“We’ll come back for you,” Newt said mildly.

“You’ll be _dead_.”

“I don’t stay that way long.”

“You—”

Newt groaned and uncrossed his arms before gesturing to the non-existent winds.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, if we lose against the City then the people at Haven will come back for you,” Newt reminded her. “Though to be honest, if we lose? I’m not sure how long you’ll all last.”

Which was why they wouldn’t lose, couldn’t lose. They were the last line that could not fall, the last vestiges of sanity and humanity left in their corner of the world. The radio transmissions pointed to the possibility that Janson hadn’t burned as much of the resistance as he’d thought he had from the face of the world. Which meant that if they could find them, unite them, they might actually stand a chance at not meeting a terrible and unseemly end.

Something that might go a lot better if Tommy’d just give Newt even a single inkling of all how these mad gambles were meant to fall together, but that was neither here nor there.

“Which is why your plan is madness, you realize,” Ava pushed.

They didn’t have time for this.

“Can you do what we need you to do, or not?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she didn’t respond, so Newt pressed on.

“Since we just outlined the fact that our mad little plan is essentially your last line of defense, it might be wise of you to bloody _comply_ with it and do your damnedest to make sure we actually succeed, don’t you think?”

“I want my colleagues to go with the children and the supplies for Haven.”

“You’re really bargaining with the wrong person, you realize? The only person here who doesn’t think you’re a complete waste of space is Thomas. I’d shoot you as soon as help you. Besides, we’re out of Berg space,” Newt added absentmindedly before the ridiculousness of her statement really caught up with him. “You lot truly have no issue with the fact that you’re sending teenagers out to fight in a gruesome battle you’re certain they won’t come back from, and you _adults_ want to run and hide with the children?”

Newt turned to fully face Ava so that he might fully enjoy the tension in her shoulders, the way that the Glade was slowly ruining her pristine white outfit. She’d already had to trade her heels for more sensible footwear in order to walk over the soft earth—the loss of height and ridiculousness of tennis shoes with a business suit effectively shattered whatever thin veneer of control she’d attempted to hold in place.

“My colleagues hold between them the knowledge and understanding to try and save the world, including yourself Mr. Newton.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is it that it needs saving, exactly?”

Ava closed her eyes to beg some unseen deity for patience and Newt allowed a small that was all but kind to appear.

“You lot don’t get credit for tryin’ to clean up your own mess, understand?” he said softly.

“Be that as it may, you’re trying to build a new civilization are you not?”

Something about the way she asked the question made Newt pause and take another look at her. There was a line of resolve that he wasn’t used to seeing in her face—resolve that wasn’t tinged by arrogance or ruthlessness. Newt went over their conversation again… ‘my colleagues’, she’d said. Not her.

Well, wasn’t that interesting?

Newt squinted his eyes and tilted his head to encourage her to speak, finally curious about where she was going with this.

“Doctors, Mr. Newton. I’m trying to give you _doctors_.”

Newt’s eyes widened, and before Ava could blink her surprise Newt had started dragging her off to find Minho, Clint, and Zart to re-run logistics on Berg space. He didn’t doubt that she had an ulterior motive, that there was some angle he wasn’t seeing that could potentially bite them all in the ass, but _doctors_.

Clint was going to klunk himself with glee if Newt could give him actual doctors.

 

 

 

Jorge was bent over a table with blueprints to something Newt didn’t recognize when Newt approached.

“Where’d Brenda run off to?” Newt asked.

“She and Rianne are with the team combing the Bergs for weapons,” Jorge answered without looking up.

“The two of them? Together? Is that wise?”

Just the thought of it made newt want to send someone off to supervise before they killed each other, or worse, became friends.

“It was either that or building explosives with Ben and Gally. You tell me which one was better,” he chuckled.

Newt felt like he was going to be sick.

“Blame your Thomas. He came by about an hour ago, said he’d gotten good news, and then told people to get as many weapons as we could together. And told _me_ to get as familiar with _these_ as I could.”

Jorge gestured for Newt to get closer and see what he was working on, a closer look brought Newt both recognition and a headache.

“Schematics for the underground in the City.”

Newt pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself to breathe; when he’d approved Thomas to look into this option, he’d only been humoring him, Newt hadn’t thought Thomas would actually find a way to make it _work_.

“Apparently. He’s got me looking for entry points, weak points, and loading stations.”

“Loading stations?”

“Aye, wants to know where we can load up without being seen, and if any of those points are near the big ass wall.”

“And where is Tommy now, exactly?” Newt asked, the patience in his voice rather more forced than he’d meant it to be.

“Last I saw he was tracking down the leaders of other Mazes so he could question them about something.”

“Oh bloody hell.”

Newt stormed off without another word, disbelief quickly outweighing the nausea forming in his gut.

Mad bastard was actually gonna try and do it.

 

 

Everywhere Newt looked there was a flurry of activity. Dmitri and Miyo had maps of train tracks, Aris was with Tim and talking rather animatedly about something that involved large sweeping motions with his hands while Tim argued with him, Frypan and Winston were with the livestock deciding what to kill and smoke and what to ship to Haven, and Minho appeared from nowhere to smack Newt on the back.

“Whew! Busy day man, busy day.”

“What’s had you so busy? I left you with Ava not two hours ago!”

“Yeah, but then Thomas came by and sent me to Joe, so I left her with Justin to get things ironed out. He’ll be the one of us going directly to the island anyway.”

“To Joe? What for? Did we get a new transmission?”

“Nah,” Minho took a long drag from his water bottle before upending the rest of it over his head and shaking off the droplets. “Needed to know how far out radio control signals can go, especially through a stone wall.”

Minho grinned cheekily at the dirty look Newt gave him through his, now dripping, fringe.

“Anyways, I’m off to find the Ice Queen again and see if she’s heard back from her allies or whatever about evacuation plans. Stay away from the North wall, by the way. Ben talked Gally into letting him make exploding spears.”

Minho was off with another pat on the back and laughter before Newt could say a word.

He had two choices: he could either run down Tommy and demand to know just what this good news was that he’d received, or he could continue on with what his assigned task was for the day.

Newt shook his head and continued on with overseeing the systematic packing up and loading of the Glade and all inside it for the journey in the morning.

 

 

“D’you think we’re ready for this?” Zart asked him quietly.

They’d spent the past 30 minutes carefully combing through the gardens, both to ensure that they hadn’t forgotten anything they needed and because the gardens were the least populated space within the walls. Zart and Newt hadn’t spoken much since all the craziness began, all Newt had known was that Zart hadn’t dealt well with Thomas’s killing spree and hadn’t been afraid to tell Thomas when he thought he was doing something stupid.

Now, though, a calm and angry acceptance had settled on Zart’s shoulder’s like a mantle. Newt supposed it would be difficult to spend a few days weaponizing plants without also coming to terms with what the very weapons you were making would soon do.

“I think we’re a lot more ready than we were the last time we tried this.”

“You died last time.”

“A lot of people died, last time. More might die this time.”

“But, we’re just kids. All of this… war, killing, the fate of the world hanging in the balance… we’re just _kids_.”

Newt met his solemn gaze and asked softly, “Were we ever just kids?”

 

 

 

All throughout the day preparations were made. Bags were packed, teams were identified, plans were discussed over and over and over again. They were off in the morning to hopefully find the North Force, but the reality of it was that none of them could guarantee exactly how much time they’d have before they would have to attack the City.

They’d not all be on one Berg, of course. No, some would be flying off to different locations specified by Ava and her allies; jury was out on whether or not those people would ever be seen again. They’d divided up the immunes so that not all of them would be together. Marjolene and Zeke would both go to the Haven with the young ones and a solid number of doctors, livestock, and produce. The one named Echo was going to the Tunnels and Rianne was with the team that’d become their aerial cavalry, but she wouldn’t split off from the main group just yet.

Ben refused to be parted from Gally, who would be with Thomas and Newt. Come to think of it, most all of their original Glade had chosen to be part of the team Minho had lovingly dubbed the ‘big damn heroes’. Named such because they weren’t expected to survive without heavy losses.

It wasn’t something Newt wanted to think about.

At the bonfire later that evening a fight broke out over who got to take Bark with them, the dog had become a fast favorite of everyone instantaneously, Harriet resolved that one before Newt had to step in. The dog would go to Haven, as it had no place in battle.

Battle.

They would be going off to battle, again, and this would be their last night all together. The liberated, the immunes, the scientists turned temporary allies. Come the morning they would each fly out to their assigned locations and await the order to fight for their lives.

And order he would take part in giving.

It didn’t sit well in his stomach.

 “I hear you had a busy day,” Tommy said from where he approached on Newt’s left. It was ridiculous how much hearing his voice and feeling his presence calmed Newt down and set him at ease.

They’d been through so much together already, what was one more battle?

“Mostly following around after you and observing the mass hysteria left behind,” Newt said. He dodged the blow he knew would follow easily enough, though when Thomas shrugged an arm around Newt’s shoulders, he didn’t fight it. He stooped down a bit more to make it easier and relished the contact.

“Mass hysteria, hm?”

“Yeah. Apparently, you got some good news and suddenly the place was a flurry of activity.”

“About that… so…”

“Don’t,” Newt interrupted softly. “Not tonight. I know what you’re goin’ to say and just… we can deal with it in the morning. Tonight is just for us.”

Tommy pulled his arm from around Newt and spun him round so they were facing each other. Newt let him look his fill, smiling at his furrowed concern and softness. This man, this force of nature, was his. All of the hard edges that protected a deceptively soft heart—all of it was Newt’s for the taking.

And take it he would.

“What are you thinking?” Tommy whispered.

In answer, Newt took his hand and led him away from the bonfire to they hut they’d claimed their own, far away from the hearing of everyone else.

Tommy didn’t fight him, for which Newt was grateful, and instead allowed himself to be gently taken away from the speeches, the planning, the worry and anxiety masked by the brew Gally had somehow found time to concoct while also blowing up half of the barn.

When they reached the little hut, one of the first that Gally’d ever built all those years ago, Newt took his time in lighting the candles. His heart sped in his chest and a subtle ache entered his fingers, enough of one that he couldn’t help the nervous tic of checking his arm for any sign of infection.

Tommy’s hand got there first.

His callused hand rubbed up and down Newt’s forearm. Slowly, deliberately, and with intent.

Newt couldn’t keep back his shiver.

“Newt,” Tommy whispered. His other palm came up to cup Newt’s cheek, to hold him as if Newt were something precious. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

It took him three tries before his mouth was moist enough to form words.

“Tonight, it’s the last night I know we will have. Tomorrow we go back to not knowing if we will ever wake up again and I—”

Tommy was patient with him, he didn’t push though understanding shone from his eyes, he let Newt press his face into his palm and breathe in his scent. It was musk and storm charged air, heat on pavement and woodsmoke tinged with salt—things that on their own would be odd but together made up _Tommy_ and Newt wanted it to permanently be a part of him.

“I want to feel you. Like that. If we don’t make it, if it all goes to hell again—I don’t—I can’t…” Newt exhaled hard before he finished. “I refuse to die again without knowing the feel of you inside of me.”

That said, Newt reached out and tapped Tommy’s wrist twice, and waited.

He heard the moment Tommy’s breath stuttered, etched the sight of black encompassing his eyes permanently into his memory.

It wasn’t until Tommy’s other palm came up to cradle Newt’s face that the emotion made him shake as well.

“I love you, Newt.”

The words broke him open wider than a blade, and Newt couldn’t help a soft laugh to hear them out loud. It’d never not be amazing to him, that against all odds Tommy’d picked him.

“I love you, Tommy.”

They didn’t speak after that.

Tommy walked them towards the bed and they gently stripped each other of their clothing as they went. Shaky lips and questing fingers marked their passage, each brush of skin against skin like the lightning that gave them their second chance.

Tommy’s weight above him was a blanket of safety, of warmth, of love, of a reason to bloody _live_ and fight tooth and claw for the light of another day.

Newt felt the moment Tommy paused in his slow grind of flesh, and once he got over his vocal protest against it, he realized why.

Sheepish and panting, Newt shifted their bodies enough that he could reach for the small bottle he’d secreted away to the hut earlier in the day.

Despite the sweat beading and the arousal thick in the air, Tommy raised an eyebrow in question.

“Almond oil,” Newt gasped out. “Just trust me, yeah?”

Tommy nodded and tapped Newt’s knuckles before he pulled out the cork and allowed the sweet scent to fill the air between them.

Even watching Tommy wasn’t enough preparation for the actual feel of his fingers inside, thought his cry was silenced with a fevered kiss and a downward grind that effectively killed any thoughts of protest. Newt allowed himself to get lost in the press of their bodies as Thomas added another, and then another, until Newt was shaking and digging his fingers into his shoulders in a silent plea for more.

And when Tommy acquiesced, when they finally joined together and their connection spark with a thousand tiny explosions, it took his breath away. He didn’t notice the burn, not with Tommy working his erection with his fingers even as he settled in as deep as Newt could take him.

Newt brushed his fingers lightly down Tommy’s face before he pulled him into a crushing kiss and let himself truly get lost to the sensation.

He felt claimed, and cherished, and powerful, and loved, so bloody loved, that it was a wonder he didn’t shatter from the crushing weight of the emotions inside of him. Their bodies moved together perfectly in sync, because they were each other’s push and pull. The answer to the question they’d never needed to ask, the start and finish. They completed each other, weren’t complete without each other, and they were perfect.

When the waves of pleasure became too much for Newt to hold back and he and Tommy held onto each other so tightly he knew they’d bruise, the last thought Newt had before he let it take him was that together?

Not a force could stand in their way.

They were unstoppable, unbeatable.

They were _infinite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooooo! Yay for the almond oil!
> 
> In a lot of ways I know this chapter feels like filler, but in reality I'm just placing pieces on the chess board. We are about to hit nothing but fast paced chapters until the end, so enjoy this while you can.
> 
> As always, I love your comments and thoughts and feedback! I will try so hard to not go so long without an update again. I'm a horrible person.


	11. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas takes a nap and avoids random organic matter being thrown at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me again! Haven't forgotten about this! I'm in grad school and sadly homework takes priority! Enjoy the chapter though guys, we are over the half way point of the story, though I'm still not sure exactly how many chapters we'll have between now and the ending. My OCD wants to make it 20 like the others, but we shall see. 
> 
> A LOT has to happen before we can let this story close. That said, enjoy!

No one spoke.

They’d been in the air for a solid hour already; after breakfast that morning all of the groups had broken off to go on their separate missions.

Some had flown with Eva and Justin to the Safe Haven with as many supplies and doctors as they could reasonably transport in the air. It was a lot of weight, almost too much to make the trip in one flight, but Eva thought they could make it.

Thomas hoped she was right.

Three bergs total had gone to Haven; two more flew alongside Thomas, where they would eventually break off to become the aerial support.

Another two groups had gone with Ava to make a few pits stops and pick up some supplies—they would be joining the fight after commandeering a few train cars. Well, some of them.

Jorge and Brenda’s group were going to go underwater and then come up through the rail system in the city proper.

Ava confirmed that their allies were poised to evacuate the city at a moment’s notice and had been doing a soft evacuation of as many people could be moved without causing a stir… but the more civilians escaped, the faster the clock would tick.

All it would take is one guard to notice that there seemed to be less people out and about than usual for Janson to be put on high alert that Thomas might be up to something a little more creative than he was used to expecting.

So many moving pieces.

So many ways it could all go wrong.

So many lives on the line.

A hand squeezed his left shoulder and Thomas turned to find Ben, half asleep on Gally’s chest, reaching out a hand in comfort. Gally gave him a nod, Newt shifted his position where he sat cradled between Thomas’s legs reading and rereading the carefully made plans, and Thomas tried to release the breath he hadn’t been sure he was holding.

The tension in the air was palpable, thicker than a sandstorm in the heat of the day.

No one liked that their groups had separated. The only way they had to keep in contact with them were the radios; High-Frequency communications could travel a long way through a desert but weren’t always the most reliable. And if no one was around to pick up the transmission or their radios went dark…. Or if someone eavesdropped…

Too many ways for it to go wrong, go bad.

By necessity the contact between groups would be minimal.

The three bergs flying to the rendezvous point with what was, hopefully, the North Force had divided the telepaths so that Aris, Rachel, and Thomas were all separated.

 _Check in, please_ Thomas asked them.

 _All clear here. Everyone asleep but me, Harriet, and Jody._ Aris responded.

 _If Jody was asleep, you’d be crashing, Aris. All clear here Thomas. You?_ Rachel said.

_Quiet here. Tense. Check in again in a few hours._

_Aye, aye._

_Get some sleep or you’ll be useless._

_That goes for you, too. Night._

_Night boss._

Thomas reached forward and tugged the plans out of Newts anxious fingers and set them aside. Newt didn’t break the oppressive silence with his protest, but it was a near thing. He had the furrow in his brow that spoke volumes about the hysteria he kept well concealed within, and that would do no one any good. Rachel was right, they needed sleep.

Thomas shook his head at Newt before pulling him close and holding him there until Newt relaxed in defeat.

Thomas fell asleep before Newt had even finished settling in, resigned to save his worries for another day.

 

 

“Wake up, shuckface. Those people you were so excited about us finding finally answered us, and they wanna know why they shouldn’t blow us out of the fucking sky.”

Minho’s words had barely registered before Thomas leapt from where he’d hunched asleep the night before and rushed to the communications console. Nearly everyone else was wide awake and staring at Thomas expectantly.

**_“We’ve got a bunch of heavy fire aimed right at you. You’ve got roughly three minutes before I decide to use it. Leave this airspace immediately.”_ **

The voice was garbled enough that the only thing Thomas could tell from it was that it was older, male, and completely serious.

“You got any bright ideas?” Thomas asked Newt.

Newt blew out a breath and tossed his hands up in the air, “Not a one. This was your crazy plan mate, you’re up.”

“Just tell them the truth. You said that you helped that Mary person with plans and things, right? If these guys worked with her, they might know about you.”

Thomas blinked at Minho with surprise.

“What? I’m not allowed to have good ideas? Someone around here has to have a brain, y’know,” Minho teased.

The huff of a laugh that escaped might have been more forced than normal, but it was still a laugh, and it still felt good. Thomas approached the console and tried to think of something to say.

_Uh, boss? We’re being hailed and they don’t sound happy._

_Give me a minute, I’ve got this._

Well, he hoped he did anyway.

**_“Hello. We don’t have a lot of options here so I’m just gonna be honest. My name is Thomas, I helped out a woman named Mary in the Right Arm what feels like a lifetime ago, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t blow us out of the sky before I can strangle Janson with my bare hands. Uh, please?”_ **

Thomas hoped he cut off his transmission before the loud groans from everyone around him went through. Someone threw something at him… a pinecone? What the hell? Why would they throw—

“DO NOT THROW THE PINECONES ARE YOU INSANE?” Zart yelled form near the door.

Everyone stopped groaning at Thomas and looked suspiciously at where Zart was now on the ground carefully cradling a pinecone and checking its spikes.

“Uh, mate? What’d ya do to the buggin’ pinecones?” Newt asked.

Zart levelled a glare at them all and wagged a finger, “Never you mind what I did to the pinecones. That’s not important.”

“It’s important if someone is throwing them at my head, Zart! And we’re on a plane! You can’t just have weapons out while we’re on a _plane_!”

“Well maybe if you weren’t intent on getting us all _shot out of the sky_ Minho wouldn’t feel the need to throw pinecones at you in the first place!”

“Oi, leave me out of this!”

“Shit, Thomas!” Dan yelled louder than everyone else and gestured frantically at the communications console where the red light was still lit up. “You can’t just put down the receiver, you have to flick off the switch! All you did was put us on _speaker_!”

“What.”

“ _It’s still keyed you bloody idjit!”_

Thomas watched in horror as Newt rushed forward to flick off the switch. His heart pounded so hard that his ribs hurt, and he was sure that the same expression of abject horror was on the face of everyone in the cabin. No one moved, no one made a sound while they stared at the radio and waited for the next response to come in. When it did, it wasn’t what Thomas expected.

**_“Seriously?”_ **

He didn’t know what to do with that.

His fingers hovered over the switch, but he didn’t press down immediately; after a moment another transmission came through.

**_“You sound like kids. Explain yourselves.”_ **

That, on the other hand, was something that Thomas could work with. He pressed the switch confidently and responded.

**_“That’s because we are kids. Teenagers, really. Now have a good think about why exactly a large group of teenagers would be trying to hook up with rebels.”_ **

**_“You said your name was Thomas?”_ **

**_“Yes.”_ **

**_“And you’re in charge?”_ **

**_“Unfortunately.”_ **

**_“Send one of your bergs to the coordinates we are about to give you and we’ll talk.”_ **

**_“All or none of us buddy. We’re done with being separated. I’m sure you can understand.”_ **

**_“…Fine, but we’ll be keeping weapons trained on you at all times. Come unarmed.”_ **

**_“If you’re armed, we’re armed. Non-negotiable.”_ **

**_“No pinecones. Meet you in an hour.”_ **

Thomas stared down at the radio with a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“Was that… did he just make a joke?” Newt asked, head tilted at the speaker.

“I dunno but I’m tempted to wear a pinecone around my neck just to see what they do.”

From the corner of his eye Thomas could see Frypan whack Gally upside the head. “No pinecones, man.”

It was Minho who voiced the thoughts that swirled in Thomas’s own mind, “Am I the only one who thinks that was way too easy?”

Thomas and Newt nodded at him.

“Could be a few things. Perhaps they haven’t any artillery that could knock us from the air, so they’re actually safer on the ground. Maybe someone there knew Mary, and she told them about Thomas. Or maybe they were decimated by Janson’s attacks on all the rebel camps and desperately need more numbers.”

“They’re closer to the Last City than we ever knew them to be,” Thomas added. “The only explanation for that is that they’re pissed and wanting to take action.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s the only explanation, but it seems likely, yeah.”

Thomas shrugged, but let Newt have the point. In reality it didn’t matter why they agreed to a meeting, only that they’d actually _agreed_.

“You’ve left off the part where this could easily be a trap,” Frypan pointed out.

Thomas waved that off, “Irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?”

Minho sighed, but backed him up. “Yeah, irrelevant. We’re going to the meeting, we’ll be armed, whether or not it’s a trap doesn’t actually matter so much.”

Neither Thomas nor Newt corrected him.

 _In case you were curious, everyone on that frequency heard that whole exchange._ Rachel informed him.

Thomas did his level best not to hit his head against something. _Everything?_

 _Pinecones?_ Aris asked.

_Just be at the rendezvous in an hour._

_Whatever you say._

The fact that Thomas could tell when they were mentally laughing at him was completely ridiculous. Sarcasm and laughter shouldn’t have a mental feel—his life was so weird. Worse though, was the fact that the likelihood of him ever living this down was second to none.

“I’m going back to sleep, and Zart?”

The boy in question looked up from where he fiddled with a large sack.

“Hide the damn pinecones.”

 

 

They reached the rendezvous first. Or, they appeared to at least. There was no sign of a camp, no sign of human life, nothing that said ‘TRAP’ in bold letters written out in the sand.

And whoever they were meeting was late.

“Well, you can’t exactly blame them for being cautious. You knew they wouldn’t send up directly to their camp,” Newt rationalized. They both stood near the drop-gate, peering out at the sun-scorched sand that surrounded them.

The rendezvous point was roughly 45 minutes by berg away from the Last City—close enough to be within a decent striking distance but far enough away that they were presumably not in the confines of their standard patrol routes.

Thomas had given the order that although the bergs were to land in the area, no one should exit. SO they waited and searched for any sign of life on the horizon.

To no avail.

After about thirty minutes had passed Thomas was impatient and reckless.

“Ah, fuck it.”

He reached out and pressed the button to lower the door and clicked the safety off of his weapons.

“Tommy?” Newt asked, the edge of exasperation in his voice clear.

“What?” We both know they’re out there and I’m tired of just standing here with my thumb up my ass waiting for them to get sick on laying in the sand like they’re fooling anyone.”

Ben choked at his phrasing, but Thomas paid him no heed and instead marching forward, guns out, and called out in his battlefield voice that was designed to carry.

“I know you’re here, just come out already so we can get this over with!”

The results were instantaneous.

They were surrounded almost immediately, but instead of being intimidated Thomas gleefully counted the number of guns aimed at them and reevaluated their chances of success against Janson.

“You could try to look a _touch_ less pleased about the number of people set to attack us, love.”

“Yeah, yeah, lecture later, look! Grenade launchers!”

It got the chuckle out of Newt that he was aiming for, so Thomas was happy. He was also pleased that those in the other two bergs stayed inside like they were told to.

_Ready to attack at your signal._

_Won’t be needed Rachel, you can relax._

_I’ll wait for the weapons to be put down if it’s all the same to you._

“If you knew we were under there the whole time, why didn’t you just come out?”

The speaker wasn’t the leader, but they stood just to the left of him. As a matter of fact, the positions of the rebels surrounding them neatly mirrored the positions of the Gladers. Three faced off against three; Thomas with Newt and Ben flanking him and the rebel leaders just the same.

Thomas shrugged.

“Curiosity, mostly. Wondered how long you lot could stay under there, but then I got bored.”

The person on the leaders right jerked in surprise, lowered her weapon, and removed the scarf that both protected her face and her identity. “Holy shit, Thomas it really _is_ you.”

Both Thomas and Newt lowered their weapons at the sound of her voice. She was caked through with dirt to the point where she was completely unrecognizable, but her voice. He knew that voice.

“ _Mary?!_ ”

Thomas’s jaw dropped and his breathing hitched. She was with the Right Arm, she should have been dead.

Why wasn’t she dead?

“You… you were with the Right Arm when they got lit up… Sonya and Harriet… they... they said—"

But then the leader, the man standing directly in front of Thomas whose stature and bearing Thomas really should have recognized immediately, pulled the scarf from his face and head. Later he would blame it on the sand, why he didn’t know who it was immediately, but the reality was that he’d long accepted that death and had denied that anything else could be reality.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Newt blurted.

Vince cocked his head at their reactions, but at Mary’s gesture he gave the signal to stand down.

“Vince—”

Thomas only managed his name before his body decided that he’d had one shock too many and his knees gave out beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides from everyone who I explicitly told Mary and Vince were dead*
> 
> What? this is a FIX-IT fic... no bodies, no death. Sorry bout it!
> 
> I've had this bit planned for literally a year. Mwahahaha.
> 
> Love all of you and your continued support!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Holy shit can you believe we are onto part three already? I sure can't. You'll get a real author's not with the next chapter, but until then I'm just popping up to address something many of you have brought up. Yes, playlists have been made and exist for this series!!
> 
> Playlist for Where You Lead: https://open.spotify.com/user/125571946/playlist/17Q5QUnfoHQzFMqqGgm01w?si=ZFqifd2gSaW9aVfPbNvRYA
> 
> Playlist for I Will Follow: https://open.spotify.com/user/125571946/playlist/26jGxTWpIPPFal41ZD1Rz7?si=o9U9VThTS6uQ1_xXVeRT4w
> 
> Playlist for If You Need: https://open.spotify.com/user/125571946/playlist/3tWiAUQ9MzYS3PV8o040s3?si=aaZUnCV-Rk6zOrW5nqQbNw


End file.
